


The Parts of Me

by Joracwyn



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-07-13 15:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 66,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16021202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joracwyn/pseuds/Joracwyn
Summary: When Sam is critically injured, there is only one way to heal her and it comes at a high price.Now she discovers just who she is when everything she thought was essential to her is taken away. But she also might have to accept that she may not be able to have everything she decides she wants.





	1. A chill in my flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for paralysis/locked-in syndrome
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Three members of SG-1, weapons blazing.

Two Jaffa, running for their lives.

Jack thinks it has the ring of a good joke.

One member of SG-1, lying motionless on the ground.

_Or not._

 

************

 

"Carter!"  Jack drops to his knees beside her, eyes raking her body, checking for injuries.  Daniel and Teal'c cover them, intently scanning the surrounding trees for signs of more Jaffa. There's no visible injury, but she isn't moving. He presses his fingers to her neck to check for a pulse and as he does so his eyes find hers.

She is staring right back at him.

"Carter?" She doesn't respond, just blinks. "Carter, are you hurt?" Still no response, just frantic, rapid blinking. Her pulse is racing.

Jack lifts her shoulder. She is limp in his arms. More blinking. He thinks he can see terror in her eyes, but maybe that's his own. He puts a hand out to cradle her head and his fingers touch metal.

"What the...?"

He turns her head. On the back of her neck, tucked right under the base of her skull, is an oval, metallic block. Six arms extend from its sides, their ends buried in Carter's flesh, each point surrounded by beads of blood. It reminds Jack of a crab, or a spider, and he looks at it more closely, checking for replicator blocks, but to his relief he doesn't think it is replicator-made.

Jack's first instinct is to rip it off and hurl it as far away as he can, but the second he tugs at the block, she convulses, a hoarse cry tearing from her throat.

"Sorry," he mumbles, brow creased in worry. He turns her so he can see her face. There are tears welling in her eyes, but she still hasn't moved or spoken. "OK, so no taking that off." She blinks at him again.

His mind is whirling. What the hell is this thing? Angling up and around, his eyes search for his teammates.

"Teal'c?" He doesn't have to say any more: Teal'c is already moving towards him. He lifts Carter easily, Jack taking his position, weapon raised.

"Let's get back to the gate ASAP."

None of them need to be told twice.

 

************

 

Carter is lying so limply in Teal'c's arms she might be dead; as soon as that thought surfaces in Jack's mind his heart stands still in his chest.

They finally got Daniel back: they can't lose Carter.

 _He_ can't lose Carter.

Doctor Fraiser is waiting for them in the gate room. Teal'c descends the ramp and places Carter on the waiting gurney as tenderly as if she were a sick child.

"Sam?" Fraiser has got her professional tone in place but the tremble of fear behind it is unmissable. Sam just lies there immobile, blinking at the Doc, who turns to the orderlies.

"Infirmary, stat." 

SG-1 follows hot on the doctor's heels, heedless of the personnel jumping out of their path. Jack's fear has reduced his awareness to a kind of tunnel vision.  The only thing in sharp focus is Carter, like she is in a bubble.  Everything else around him is blurred slightly, muffled.  The doctor's words to her staff slide past like an oil slick. Carter's eyes are flicking back and forth; he doesn't know whether she realises what's going on or if she is trying to communicate. She sees him as she does another sweep of the room and locks her eyes to his, intent, focussed, as if she is trying to push her thoughts into his head with the force of her gaze.

 _She's not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead…_

The mantra is anchoring him to sanity just as her eyes are anchoring him to the spot next to her bed.  He reaches for her hand.  There is nothing wrong with his voice but if he opens his mouth he's afraid all that will come charging out is that mantra, which won't help anyone. So he squeezes her hand instead and hopes she understands what he is actually trying to tell her.

_You're gonna be OK. I'm here._

But her hand lies in his, motionless.

"Colonel?" He suddenly realises Doctor Fraiser is speaking to him. "What happened, Colonel?"

"I don't know. There's a thing on her neck…" His voice shakes slightly and he clears his throat, but the doctor doesn't ask any more.  She gently turns Carter's head to inspect the device.

Jack speaks again, his voice a little stronger now he isn’t looking directly into Carter's eyes. "I tried to pull it off but Carter had some kind of a seizure."

"OK, Colonel." She calls out to no one in particular, "I need X-rays and an MRI!" Nurses move automatically.  They're well-trained in this sort of scenario.

"Sam?" Fraiser is leaning over her. "Can you hear me? I need you to blink once for yes and twice for no."

 _Stupid, Jack._ _Why didn't you think of that?_

Sam blinks once. Jack lets out a breath and feels a little tension leave his body. She's still there.  She's still aware.  But then he realises that might be worse.

The doc's speaking again. "Are you in any pain?"

Two blinks. A little more tension dissipates.

"That's good. Can you move at all?"

Two blinks.

 _Shit_. But then, that much was fairly clear from the first.

"OK, Sam. We're going to work out what's going on, I promise. We'll get you through the scans, but then we'll sedate you, just to make sure we don't cause any further damage."

Sam blinks once again.

Fraiser calls out something unintelligible and she steps away from the bed but the nurses are now pushing insistently past. Reluctantly, Jack is forced ever backwards, further from Carter's side, as the crowd of medical staff around her bed increases. He glimpses disconnected parts of her as the group shifts. A hand, sprouting IV tubes. Her stomach, creamy skin briefly exposed as they examine her. The top of her head, hair in wild disarray, gold against the stark white pillow. 

Finally, her face, expressionless, slack, decorated with electrode stickers. As if her beauty needed adornment. 

He needs desperately to escape, but just as desperately needs to stay with her, to reassure himself that she continues to live.  His back hits the wall and he hesitates there for a moment, before Daniel grasps his arm and tugs gently.

"Jack?  Come on, come outside."  Jack feels himself being led away, out of the door.  He risks a glance back, but they're just starting to wheel the bed away.

_Come on, Carter.  You're gonna be OK.  Don't do this to me. Don't…_

He can't finish that thought.  It might just stop his heart completely.

 

************

 

Doctor Fraiser joins them for the debriefing, a thick wad of papers in her hands.

"What happened, Colonel?" Hammond is grave.

"We were scouting P4S-522 for the mineral deposits that Carter got all excited about. There was no sign of human activity anywhere. We split up, Teal'c and Daniel, myself and Carter."

Daniel butts in. "I thought I'd seen ruins on the UAV images, so Teal'c and I went to look for them."

Jack continues, expressionless. "There was a rocky escarpment about three klicks from the gate, which Carter wanted to check out. When we got there, she took readings and I took a look around. We..." he trails off, not wanting to say the next words out loud. Vocalising them makes the guilt real, the pain of it a knife in his belly.

"Colonel?" Hammond prompts. 

"We let our guard down, sir." Jack's emotions escape from his rigid control, fury and shame mingling to create a potent brew poisoning his whole being. It was his slip-up and that makes him utterly responsible for Carter's condition. "We'd seen nothing - nothing! - to indicate that there was anyone on that planet except for us. So we got separated. Then I heard Carter on the radio, saying she thought she'd seen evidence that someone had been there recently. I ordered Teal'c and Daniel to join us but they were still a couple klicks away. I told Carter to stay put, stay hidden and I'd join her. Next thing I knew I was being fired at by a Jaffa."

"Did you recognise his allegiance?" 

"No, sir. I couldn't make out his tattoo."

"And there was just the one?" 

"Yes, sir. But he had me cut off from Carter. We both heard her scream -" Jack breaks off, his voice faltering. The remembrance of the fear that had rocked him in that moment threatens to crack him open now. Hammond waits patiently for his next words. "We both made a break for it. I wounded the Jaffa, but he made it to Carter before I did. There was another Jaffa there, holding her up, like he was trying to move her. I thought maybe she'd been zatted..." He had _hoped_ that that was all that was wrong.

Teal'c continues. "By this time, Daniel Jackson and myself had arrived. We fired upon the two Jaffa. The one holding Major Carter dropped her. They ran into the trees, where they had a tel'tak hidden. They escaped." Teal'c sounds disgusted, perhaps with himself for not capturing them, or perhaps with them that they had run: Jack isn't sure.

"The Jaffa must have got the drop on Carter, put that thing on her neck." Jack raises his fingers to the back of his neck, as if he could feel the device there. "She couldn't move so Teal'c carried her back to the gate. I don't know.... I don't know what it is, or what it's done to her."

"Teal'c? Have you ever seen anything like it?" Hammond glances down at the images of the device in the folder before him. Jack looks at it sideways.  It really does look like a spider, only with six legs instead of eight.  Its dull, metallic surface is covered with swirling designs, but Jack doesn't know if they represent anything.

"I have not, General Hammond." Reluctantly - Teal'c hates admitting that there is something he doesn't know, especially when knowing might help one of his team.

"Doctor?" The general turns his attention to the sober-faced woman next to him.

"Well, sir, I have no idea exactly what it is, but I can hazard a guess at what it's doing based on the effect it has had.  There are these six…legs…which are holding it in place.  There are also another two short points underneath the…body…" Clearly, Jack isn't the only one who things it looks like a bug, "which extend towards Major Carter's spine.  It's emitting some kind of electronic charge.  My guess is that it is interfering with Sam's synapses, causing complete paralysis.  Her brain scans are completely normal - other than heightened stress levels, which is understandable in these circumstances - so it doesn't seem to have caused any kind of brain damage, but she just doesn't seem to be able to move.  At this point in time she's like someone with locked-in syndrome. She at least has the ability to communicate simply, but it must be incredibly frightening for her.  I've sedated her temporarily." At this, an expression of faint discomfort crosses the doctor's face. "It may not be strictly necessary physically, but for the time being, it may be better for her psychologically to remain unconscious."

General Hammond nods. The rest of SG-1 are silent, taking in this horrifying news.

"Can you remove it?"

Fraiser locks her fingers together, head bowed.  She takes a breath and looks apologetically at Jack, like she knows how much he is hoping she'll say yes.

"I don't know," is her only answer.  She turns to Hammond, who is obviously waiting for more information.

"I don't know what will happen if we remove it surgically - it's very close to her spinal cord.  The colonel tried to pull it off but it provoked a seizure. The same could happen during surgery. An EM pulse will probably render it inert, just like the Urgo devices," Jack shivers imperceptibly, "but I don't know if Sam will regain her movement." She sighs, frustration creeping into her voice. "I have no idea what kind of lasting effect this will have."

"Right, then, people," General Hammond says briskly, "We need to find someone who knows what it is and how to remove it."

"What about the Tok'ra?" Daniel interjects. Hammond nods at him.

"I'll have someone contact them. Hopefully they'll be able to get hold of Jacob as well." All three of SG-1 acquiesce wordlessly.  Hammond pushes away from the table.

"Write up your mission reports, gentlemen. You're on stand-down until further notice."

He gathers his files and rises. SG-1 and Doctor Fraiser follow suit, unhappiness etched onto their features. They exit without a word, returning together to the infirmary to stand vigil over their friend.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> This is my first fic, so comments and constructive criticism are most welcome!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. A Tether round my neck

Jack hates the infirmary.

He's either in the infirmary in a bed because he's injured - which is bad enough - or next to a bed because a member of his team is injured - which is infinitely worse. And no matter what the injury, it's _always_ his responsibility. He's team leader. The buck - or bullet - stops with him. If one of his team is injured, it's because he's failed them in some way. And the only amends he can make them is to stay with them, as if his presence could intimidate their injuries into healing faster.

He knows it's stupid. But he's got to do _something_ , and since he has no medical training - field-dressing wounds aside - this is the best he can manage.

They debriefed Hammond two days ago. Jack hasn't left her bedside since. Well, except for the obvious calls of nature. He has eaten what he's been brought, or what he could scrounge. Nurses kept suggesting that he go and rest, but each was fixed with a flinty stare which he maintained until they found pressing matters to attend to elsewhere. It wasn't long before the 'suggestions' ceased. At least Doc Fraiser knows better than to make him leave.

Daniel is in his office searching through every book he owns and every picture he has ever taken to find any kind of reference which might help them discover what this thing on Carter is. Teal'c has taken himself offworld to find out if his Jaffa allies have any information. Jack has tried contacting the Asgard, his ace-in-the-hole, but their silence is deafening.

Never around when you need 'em, Jack reflects bitterly.

So he is left with nothing to do but sit and wait. His two absolutely favourite activities.

Mostly Jack fiddles with items from his pocket or the table next to him, scowling, while he replays the mission in his mind's eye and assesses what he could have done differently. Then he mentally uses himself as a punching bag because there's so much that he did wrong.

Sometimes he thinks forward, to when the Tok'ra get here to fix Carter. But not often, because there's too many variables and he doesn't want to get lost in the what-ifs or too high on hope which might come to nothing.

Jack tells himself that he'd be sat here just the same if it were Teal'c or Daniel on the bed before him.

But it's not Teal'c or Daniel. It's _Carter_.

So a little part of him, that tiny part that is able to forget that he is Carter's CO and too old and too stupid for her and has already in his life made a complete screw-up of loving someone, a part that can just be simply and deeply in love with her... That part of him is weeping.

 

************

 

Four days later, the Tok'ra arrive. It's been six days since they gated back from P4S-522. Six days that Carter has been unconscious. Six days that Jack has sat by her side.

He hears the klaxons but he doesn't bother running to see who it is. He keeps his eye on the clock and waits. He knows how long it takes to get from the gateroom to the infirmary. Three minutes earlier than he expects - damn, the man must have run! - Jacob Carter enters the room with Hammond, an unknown Tok'ra at their heels. As they move toward the bed, Doctor Fraiser joins them.

Jack stands. "Jacob."

"Jack," Jacob responds, but he has eyes only for his daughter. He sinks into the chair Jack has just vacated and takes Sam's hand. The other Tok'ra hovers at the end of the bed. "How did this happen?"

"Two Jaffa - don't know whose. They caught us by surprise. I think one of them was trying to capture Carter, but I don't know whether it was planned or just because she was there."

"Wrong time, wrong place." Jacob sounds resigned. Understanding.

"Yeah," Jack says quietly. "Something like that."

"What's this device George mentioned?"

Doctor Fraiser answers. "As far as we can tell it's of goa'uld design, made of naquadah or with naquadah components. It's transmitting an electrical signal which we suspect is interfering with Sam's own synapses." She motions for two orderlies to help move Carter. "Her brain activity reads normal - at least, it did before we sedated her - and she was aware and responsive."

Jacob looks up at the doctor. "Why is she unconscious then?"

"She seems to be completely aware of what was going on, but she can't move.  It must be incredibly distressing for her.  We sedated her while we ran the tests, but we haven't woken her up.  I thought it might be best to keep her unconscious - at least until we have a better idea of how to proceed." Although the doc's reasoning seems sound to Jack, she seems to be trying to persuade herself that this is the right course of action. Luckily, Jacob seems to concur.

"That's probably a good idea.  We don't know whether elevated stress levels will affect the device. Can I see it?"

Carter's limp body is turned just enough to allow Jacob to view the grey block below her skull. He peers at it, running his fingers over its dull surface. His chin lowers as his symbiote takes control.

"I have seen this before," Selmak states, "but a very long time ago."

"What is it?" Jack asks quickly. "Can you remove it?" Hope bubbles through him again.

Selmak takes a moment to answer. "It is known as a Tether. I have seen it before on goa'uld slaves, but I was not aware it could cause such effects as this." He raises his eyes to Jack and Hammond in turn, his face sombre. "We cannot remove it easily. It must first be deactivated, and we do not have the correct means with which to accomplish that."

Just like that, hope transmutes to ice-cold dread.

"So, what? That's it?"

"No." Selmak grants Jack a look of sympathy but his tone is withering. "I said it would not be easy. We will have to create a new interface with the device."

He glances across to his companion, who nods in answer to a question unspoken. "This is Galtas and his host Lev. They have experience with goa'uld devices similar to this. Between us, we may be able to remove the Tether." His gaze shifts, moving across Hammond and settling on Jack once more. "But it will take us some time."

Selmak's head drops and Jacob takes over. "I know it doesn't sound great, but we'll work it out.  I'd like to get to work right away, if that's OK?"

"Of course, Jacob. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks, George. Doctor, we'll need your help too."

"Whatever I can do."

Jack feels suddenly redundant. "I'll, ah, leave you to it, then." He wants to touch Carter - take her hand, kiss her forehead. Something. Anything. However, with all these spectators he has to content himself with unobtrusively brushing his fingertips on the rough fabric of the blanket, inches away from her leg. It's a poor substitute.

Selmak and Galtas are already conferring in low tones as Jack backs away from the bed. He feels like by leaving her side he's abandoning her, though she has got the best people taking his position. He just has to trust them.

"Trust them, Jack." Hammond echoes his thoughts, following his gaze.

"I was just thinking that, sir."

"Go get some rest, colonel.  It's going to be a long wait," he says, looking at the three figures around the bed, "and I'll make it an order if I have to."  If the situation were less grave Jack is sure Hammond's eyes would be twinkling with amusement.  As it is, he just looks tired.  Defeated.  Another day, another officer seemingly at death's door.  Jack decides not to make Hammond's day any harder than it already is by protesting.

"Yes, sir." 

Dutifully, he seeks his quarters and lies down, but the sleep he promised Hammond never comes. 

 


	3. My closed eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note on formatting: Text in "double quotes" is vocalised speech; text in 'single quotes' are thoughts shared between host and symbiote; text in italics are thoughts of one character, not otherwise identified by 'He thought...'

You have to hand it to them, Jack thinks, the Tok'ra have a really great work ethic _._ Just this side of obsessive.  Which is good.  It’s Carter they're working for.  Yeah, one of them is Carter's dad, but the other guy - Garish?  Gutless? - is working just as hard.  They're running the doc ragged.  She looks about to drop, but they're still fresh as daisies.  Maybe that's one of the perks of having a snake in your head - you don't have to sleep so often.

_Carter would love that, with all the all-nighters she pulls._

That thought stops him short. Carter with a snake in her head would be a fearsome thing, on many levels. He's seen it before, after all, so he knows.

Although now he's come to think of it, he's not sure Jolinar actually ate anything while she was being detained.... And he's pretty sure he didn't when Kanaan was using Jack's body for his own ends under the pretense of curing him of that Ancient plague.

And look where that got him. A cell, and a sarcophagus, and some torture in between, over and over and over... 

Jack clenches his fists in his lap and concentrates on keeping his breathing steady and his heart rate under control. Just another experience to add to the growing PTSD list that is his life, he tells himself. But for now he's still sane, although some – Daniel – might say that was open for debate, and functioning, which is more than be said for Carter. 

He focuses on her.

Teal'c silently enters the observation room from where Jack is keeping watch on the Tok'ras' progress. It's unnerving, the way he can move around without a sound. Nobody that big should be that quiet. He sits next to Jack, folding his hands on his lap. 

"Hey, buddy." Jack's voice is quiet, even though they wouldn't be heard by those in the room below. 

"I assume there has been no progress."  Teal'c isn't one for small talk.  Which is good.

"Nah.  I keep thinking maybe… But Selmak did say it was going to take a while. Did you find out anything?"

Teal'c's been contacting groups of Free Jaffa, hoping to find some clue as to who has been using Tethers.

"I did not. "

Jack scrubs his hands through his hair and blows out a breath.  He was really hoping Teal'c would find something, anything, to help Carter.

"It was worth a shot."

Teal'c bows his head in aquiescence.

"So I guess we just have to hope the Tok'ra can work something out."  Jack's eyes follow Jacob as he paces the floor at the foot of Carter's bed.

"Indeed."

 

************

 

'This is taking too long'

'Have patience, Jacob.  We are nearly there.'

'But look at her, Selmak!  We don't know what that thing's done to her!'

'But now we know what it was programmed to do, and that is a start. It should not be long now.'  Selmak is irritatingly calm, as always.

Jacob's frustration has been increasing in proportion to the amount of time they'd been trying to create an interface with the device on Sam's neck.  They've been working for thirty-three hours straight now, and Selmak thinks it might be time for a rest.  She's been managing Jacob's stress levels but it's becoming increasingly difficult, so sleep - enforced if necessary - will help.

'Jacob, it's time to sleep.'

'What?  No, Sel, I can't sleep now.'

'You know I will make you if I have to.'

'Really?  You're going to pull that on me?'

Selmak's silence tells him all he needs to know.  He gives in reluctantly.

'Fine'.  Even in his mind he bites off the word.  'We'll go report to George, then we'll sleep.'

'Thank you.  And perhaps a meal will not go amiss?'

'Alright, alright.  George, food, sleep.'

Jacob feels a wave of satisfaction, then Selmak takes over.

"Galtas, Lev, I have persuaded Jacob to rest.  Perhaps it would be wise if you did the same."  They nod.  "We will report our findings so far to General Hammond.  I believe the airman will be able to tell you where to find nourishment and sleeping quarters."

Selmak turns to the observation window.  Sure enough, Colonel O'Neill is sitting there with Teal'c, just where he has been for almost as long as they have been working.  He looks haggard.

'Good luck trying to get _him_ to rest, Selmak.'  Jacob is amused, but Selmak also detects sympathy bordering on pity. It is funny, in a way, that neither Sam nor Jack realise how obvious it is that they're in love with each other. They do such a good job pretending to themselves that their feelings don't exist that they think they're fooling everyone else.

Jacob is no fool.

He can imagine how seeing Sam so helpless now and being able to do nothing about it must be driving Jack nuts.

'This is not the time for woolgathering, Jacob,' Selmak chides gently.  'There will be time enough to solve their problems when we have healed her.'

Aloud, "We are ready to give General Hammond an update.  Perhaps you would join us, Colonel O'Neill?"

Jack straightens immediately, and, patting Teal'c on the shoulder, strides out of the observation room.

They convene minutes later in General Hammond's office.  Selmak gives control to Jacob in deference to his long-standing friendship with the base commander.

"OK, George.  We think we know what the device was programmed for."

"You _think_?"  Jack sounds both incredulous and scornful.

"Well," Jacob keeps his voice cool, "it's hard to be sure since we don't have the correct control device and we don't want to experiment in case it causes more damage."

Jack grimaces apologetically.

"As far as we can tell, Doctor Fraiser was correct in her assumptions. The device is designed to be able to shut off the movement of those it is attached to.  Involuntary paralysis, but only of the limbs."

"Why?"  It was again Jack who spoke.  George seemed to be carefully assimilating Jacob's words.

"We know that these have been used to control slaves.  Perhaps infliction of paralysis was used as punishment, or perhaps as the means of capture."

"So the Jaffa _was_ trying to capture her.  I guess they just slap it on and carry the prisoner away."

Jacob nods.

There is silence in the room as each man considers Jacob's words.

"And you're no nearer being able to remove it."  It is not a question.

"No, Jack."  The apology is silent, but evident in Jacob's eyes.

George sighs.  "Thanks, Jacob, Selmak.  You should get some rest.  You look like hell."

Jacob chuckles tiredly.  "Just what Selmak has already told me, though not in so many words.  We'll go grab something to eat first."

"I'll join you, if that's ok?"  Jack suprises Jacob with the request.

"Sure."  Jacob nods.  "George."

"Jacob.  Colonel."

"Sir."

Jack and Jacob walk in silence all the way to the commissary.  It's not until Jacob has helped himself to a meal and Jack has settled opposite him with a mug of coffee that Jack speaks.

"Thanks, Jacob."

Jacob raises one eybrow in question.

"You know, for working this all out."

"It's my daughter, Jack." Jacob says softly.

"I know."  Jack falls silent again, staring into his coffee. He says no more, but Jacob is pretty sure that a simple thank you was not all that Jack wanted to say.

"Jack, what is it you really want to ask?" Jacob presses.

Jack looks slightly abashed, but also nervous.  He takes a breath and forces his next words out.

"What's the prognosis?"

Jacob has been trying not to think further than the problem in hand, but he also knew he would be asked this sooner or later.  "I don't know, Jack.  I wish I did.  I'm hoping that when we remove the Tether, Sam'll wake up and everything will be fine."

"You're hoping?"

"Yeah, I'm hoping."

Jack frowns.  "I need you to be more definite about this, Jacob."

Jacob sighs.  "I wish I could be. But we've detected some anomalies in the electrical signal. Galtas thinks the naquadah in Sam's blood might be interfering with the intended effects of the device.  And Selmak doesn't know whether those effects will cease when the device is removed."

Jack nods slowly, taking in the information and all its potential ramifications.  He gulps down the last of his coffee whilst Jacob skewers a few soggy vegetables onto his fork, then he sets his cup down carefully, not meeting Jacob's eyes.

"I'll let you get on.  With your meal.  And resting."  And with that he's off.

Jacob doesn't watch him go.  He can't offer Jack any words of comfort, because he has none for himself.

 

************

 

After their brief but depressing conversation over Jacob's meatloaf, Jack can't face going back to staring at Sam's lifeless form. If that makes him a coward, so be it. Questions and reflections and fears and doubts are closing in on him like fog and threatening to suffocate him. So with Hammond's permission he heads home.

He takes a scalding shower and then stares into his bare cupboards for ten minutes before cracking open a beer - the only thing in his fridge - and heading up onto his roof deck.  He would be doing no more good on base than he is here, but at least here he feels like he can breathe. Here he can try to block out the image of Carter lying still and pale on an infirmary bed.

He is pretty sure Teal'c and Daniel will be occupying his vacant space in the observation room and that they'll let him know...if there's something to know.

He gazes unseeingly at the stars, schooling his thoughts to stillness.  But the hum of dread vibrating through his body is harder to shut off.  He's not sure whether the beer is helping but at least it gives him something to do with his hands. Without it -

Well, without it, he'd probably be breaking things.

 

************

 

The sleep he has been evading must finally have found him, because he wakes to the shrill sound of his cell phone, an excruciating crick in his neck, his beer bottle lying on its side by his feet and a line of drool down his chin.  He flips open the phone and rubs one hand over his face.

"O'Neill."

"Jack!"  It's Daniel. "They're nearly there.  Well, Galtas is pretty sure he's got it, but Selmak's being really cautious, I mean, that's not unreasonable, but I think they might try to take it off Sam soon and I thought you'd want to be here when they did -" He is talking a million miles an hour, almost too fast for Jack's sleep-addled brain to comprehend.  Jack wonders whether Daniel has slept at all or is surviving by mailining caffeine.  By the speed of his words, probably the latter.

"What does Doc Fraiser think?"

"What?  Ah, well, you know Janet.  Always wants to be one hundred per cent sure.  But she seems pretty out of her depth so I guess she'll go along with Selmak -"

"OK, Daniel." Jack cuts him off.  "I'm on my way."

 

************

 

It doesn't take long for Jack to reach the base and join Teal'c and Daniel in their tense vigil.

Selmak and Galtas are holding one of the crystal screens between them and are conversing quickly in earnest tones.  Doctor Fraiser stands slightly to one side, following the discussion like a ping-pong game.

"Hey, " Daniel says quietly.

"Hey," Jack responds automatically.

The conversation goes on and on, the tension in the observation room building with each passing minute.  Galtas finally locks eyes with Selmak and nods, then moves away to the container the Tok'ra brought with them.  He picks up a grey object, slightly bigger than his hand.  Jack thinks it looks like a giant stone beetle, except for the big blue crystal in the middle.  Galtas places it on the crystal screen Selmak holds out and presses a complicated sequence of keys around the edge of the stone.  The blue crystal flares for a second then goes dark.

Selmak exchanges a few more words with Doctor Fraiser, who nods reluctantly, then Selmak looks up at the three men watching them.

"We are ready to attempt to remove the device.  Doctor Fraiser is going to wake Samantha up to inform her of the circumstances."

Jack nods. The doc is already injecting something into Carter's IV. It takes a while to have any effect, but eventually, her eyes flutter open.

"Sam?" Jacob's voice is tender. "You feeling OK, kiddo?" Sam blinks once, pauses, then blinks twice. Her father smiles a little sadly.

"I know, Sammie. Look, Selmak's been working on getting this thing off you, and we think we're ready. But Galtas -" Jacob looks over to the other Tok'ra, who moves into Carter's line of vision, "-he thinks there may be some side effects.  The naquadah in your blood..." He trails off.  Then he shakes his head and blows out a breath. "Honestly, we don't know. Do you want us to go ahead?"

One blink. No hesitation. Jack's heart swells a little in pride at her courage. But then again, what other choice is there?

"Doc?" Jacob calls.  Fraiser steps forward. "Can she be awake for this?"

The doctor leans forward and places her hand on Carter's arm.  "Do you want to be awake, Sam?"

One blink.

Fraiser smiles. "OK. Ready?"

One blink.

"OK, Sam," Jacob says warmly, then Selmak reasserts himself. "We will proceed."

The doctor looks away and issues orders to move Sam onto her side so the Tether is exposed. Then she turns to the observation window and nods to the rest of SG-1. Daniel rises and picks up the phone to inform General Hammond.  Galtas moves to Sam's side but Selmak puts out his hand and Galtas passes him the stone.  Fraiser lingers nervously on the opposite side of the bed, her eyes flicking between Carter's face and the stats on the monitor next to her.

Selmak pauses.  Jack thinks he can imagine the debate between Jacob and his snake, but unity is obviously reached, as Selmak stretches out his arm, holding the stone millimetres above the device on Carter's neck.  He presses his finger to the central crystal.

It glows with light, faintly at first but growing stronger. Then it flashes. Jack can't see anything happen, but the monitor starts beeping as Carter's heartrate and blood pressure increase rapidly. Doctor Fraiser crouches down in Carter's line of sight and starts speaking quietly, reassuringly.  Selmak continues to hold the stone steady.

The flashing grows faster and the legs on the Tether retract. The grey block falls to the mattress with a dull thud and the light in the crystal winks out.

Selmak scoops the Tether off the bed and steps away as the orderlies roll Carter onto her back, but no sooner is she settled than convulsions seize her body.  Jack takes an involuntary step towards the glass, aware of Teal'c and Daniel leaping from their chairs to join him. Their movement mirrors the sudden motion of the infirmary staff below, nurses and the doctor forming an almost solid wall around Carter's bed as they seek to stabilise her.

Whatever it is that Doctor Fraiser has been pumping into Carter's IV finally takes effect and she slumps back to the bed, lifeless once again.  Jack feels like slumping into a chair while his normal heartrate reasserts itself.  He isn't the only one.  Daniel's hand is on Teal'c's shoulder, his forehead resting on it, like he is having trouble supporting himself.  Jacob has collapsed onto a stool, his chin on his chest.

But it's off.  That damn innocuous little grey _thing_ is held firmly in Jacob's hand.  As the doctor begins a barrage of tests on her patient, Jacob visibly gathers himself before handing the Tether to Galtas, along with the other stone.  Galtas places them in the box carefully and shuts the lid.

"Janet?"  Jacob's voice is tentative.  Doctor Fraiser looks up.  "How is she?"

The doctor pockets her little penlight and stares for a moment at Carter's monitor.  It's a long moment, and Jack holds his breath until she answers.

"I'm afraid I don’t know."  That wasn't what Jack wanted to hear.  "I've sedated her again, so I won't know exactly what effect that thing has had until we wake her up."

"When will that be, Doctor?"  Damn.  Jack hadn't heard General Hammond enter and his sudden voice has him jumping out of his skin.

Again, Fraiser pauses before she answers, carefully thinking through her response.  "I would like to keep her under for another 24 hours, sir, to give her body time to adjust." She looks to Jacob for confirmation.  He nods.

General Hammond glances at Jacob, then addresses the doctor again.  "Very well, doctor."

Great, Jack thinks. More waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone leaves angry comments, please note that I know that PTSD is a real and serious health issue. The comment in this chapter regarding PTSD comes across as flippant because I think Jack would be dismissive of his own mental health. His opinions are not my own!


	4. A hand on my forehead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be pretty obvious, but text prefixed by > is typed speech

Returning consciousness is reluctant. She would much rather disappear again into the dark than confront the fragments of awareness assaulting her now.

Everything feels wrong. That's to be expected when waking up from what must be heavy sedation. It takes long moments of adjustment to realise that the wrongness isn't fading the way she's accustomed to. Her body is permeated with it. She probes deeper. Nope, it's just in her body. Her mind feels right, familiar, everything locked into place.

Piece by piece the picture is revealed on the puzzle of remembrance.

She wishes once again for ignorant oblivion.

But the post-sedative reboot might be taking a while, she reasons. So she risks opening her eyes. It takes some effort to raise the lids. More effort to focus her eyes on her surroundings.

The infirmary. Well, that was to be expected. She tries to look around, but her head seems too heavy, so she just takes in as much as she can by moving her eyeballs. She expects to see her team, but the figure by the bed is unexpected, if not less familiar. He sits with his head resting against his fist, eyes closed.

"Dad?" At least, that is what she wanted to say. But even that single syllable plops mushily out of her mouth. What is wrong with her?

His eyes snap open.

"Sam." Relief exhales from him on the breath of her name.

"What...?" It's as if all the signals she is sending her body are being rerouted along some scenic detour before being lost in transit. She wants to sit up but her torso simply twitches. She wants to reach up a hand to her head - where that thing was -but it flings itself halfheartedly off the edge of the bed. The more she tries - and fails - to move the way she wants the more frightened she becomes.

This isn't a reboot, it's a system-wide crash.

The beeping of the monitor somewhere to her left grows ever more frantic. The noise summons the doctor, who materialises at her side, her steady hands on Sam's shoulders, pressing her twitching form firmly back to the bed. Jacob strokes her forehead softly. Sam's eyes dart from one to the other, panic congealing the air in her lungs.

"Hey Sam, calm down. It's OK. I'm here." Her dad has got that look on his face that says he's telling her something important, something she really needs to hear. So she listens. She focuses her whole attention on him and somewhere between that look and his gentle fingers on her face she finds she trusts him. Then she slowly relaxes. As she melts back into the mattress, sucking in an unsteady breath, he sinks back to his chair, one hand moving from her forehead to her shoulder, the other tightly grasping her cold fingers.

"Sam, I need you to listen. I'm going to tell you what's happened and what we know, and then..." She feels him squeeze her shoulder. "Then we'll work out what we're going to do."

Her head jerks in a nod, sort of.

"The Jaffa that ambushed you on P4S-522 used a device called a Tether..."

Her wide eyes never leave his face.

 

************

 

Jacob could stay only one week before he had to return to wherever it is he is based these days. He tried the healing device on Sam but there was no improvement in her condition after any of his attempts. Drugs haven't helped either. There was a brief discussion about surgery but since scans show nothing Doctor Fraiser decided that they couldn't risk operating when there was a chance it would do more harm than good.

Reports on Sam's progress - or lack of - have been regularly filed with the higher-ups. Not for the first time George marvels at just how many people have an interest in Sam. Well, he corrects himself, how many departments in Cheyenne Mountain or Area 51 have always relied on her expertise to generate any kind of forward momentum.

He has spent a great deal of time reassuring everyone who asks that Major Carter is still a vital part of the SGC. No, she will not be going offworld for the foreseeable future. No, her mind has not been affected by the device. Yes, she is still working on the Prometheus and stargate.

But her output, once a torrent of papers and reports flowing out of the mountain, has slowed to a trickle. She can't fly to Groom Lake to troubleshoot problems with propulsion systems or the Asgard technology interface. She can't sit at a computer in the control room when the stargate malfunctions. So the tone of the phone calls and emails have gradually changed from genuinely concerned, to frustrated, to irritated, to confrontational. George has done all he can to shield Sam from the impatience of her superiors. She needs to focus on recovery, not worry about targets and deadlines.

Few of the bureaucrats accept George's assertion that she is indispensable because they all know there are other personnel with skill sets similar to hers. None match her brilliance but they are good - some would say very good - and that is good enough for the pen pushers.

It's not surprising. To them Sam is only a name on a piece of paper, an IQ level, a tool with which they forward their own ends. They've not watched her, undaunted, turn the laws of physics on their heads to rescue a teammate; they've never stood beside her, unflinching, as the self-destruct counts down towards zero. They have not witnessed, as he has, as she gives everything she is, over and over, to keep the planet safe.

The friend in him wants to keep her here, where he can watch over her. Here, where she belongs. But the commander in him knows that in her current condition she can't remain in a facility like this. She needs care and rehabilitation that the SGC cannot provide. The friend in him doesn't want to hear the order passed down that will effectively end her career. The commander in him knows that the call he has been dreading is coming. The commander will have to give her the bad news, but he hopes she'll let the friend give her comfort.

 

************

 

Sam is handling her condition really well, at least, she is in front of her team. Daniel thinks maybe when they're not around she lets the brave-little-soldier facade slip a little. Even so, he is more than a little humbled by the grace and courage she has displayed since the Tether was removed, able to speak only half-words and move her limbs in a floppy kind of way.  It reminds Daniel disturbingly of a fish out of water, though he would never, ever say that out loud.  Fish metaphors are Jack's thing, anyway.

Someone suggested voice-synthesising software but to everyone's intense relief, Sam immediately refused. Jack was particularly horrified at the thought. Daniel knows exactly why: to this day electronic voices take them back to another day, another infirmary bed, with an entity that was not Sam looking through her eyes. And then to a corridor not far from there where Jack had had to kill her. None of them like remembering that particular day.

So she has a keyboard and a tiny monitor that someone from the science department rigged to display her slowly-typed words in large font.  It's a bit awkward because it means that she can't share her words with a group, just the person facing the monitor, but it's better than not being able to communicate at all. 

Daniel has spent long hours at her bedside keeping her amused, trying to stop her dwelling on the unpleasant reality she is facing. Jack is pretty much camped out there all the time. He must have work to do, but how he gets it done is a mystery to Daniel. Maybe General Hammond is going easy on him, given the circumstances.

Jack is there now when Daniel drops by, playing with something he obviously 'liberated' from one of the nurse's trolleys.  Sam is working on her laptop, fingers jabbing at the keys uncertainly.  She's frowning in frustration and huffing out little bursts of breath that are probably meant to be curses.  Daniel's not sure whether the almost-expletives are directed at her unsuccessful attempts to type smoothly or the program she's working on. He pauses in the doorway, observing the scene, but doesn't linger for long.

"Hey, Sam.  Jack."

They both look up.  Sam greets him with a soft smile, Jack with a surly, "Daniel."

Daniel thinks it's Sam's smile that saddens him most.  It's a lopsided half-smile that seems to require a lot of effort, so she doesn't smile very often.  The wide, beautiful grins she would flash at him are completely gone and that hurts something inside him.  So he has to try that much harder to put enthusiasm in his voice as he continues,

"SG-19 brought back some great artefacts from their last mission.  I think they might be similar to witch-bottles found in some parts of medieval Europe."  Sam tilts her head in question.  "Witch-bottles were said to ward off evil spirits, so they'd be buried around doorways or put in hollows in the walls around entrances."

"What, with tiny witches in them?" Jack is simultaneously amused and scathing.

"No, Jack, actually they usually had urine and hair in them, sometimes nail clippings."

"That's disgusting, Daniel."

"Actually it's a great way to gather information about people's health and diet, and even movement around a region…"

"Ack! I don't want to hear that you're having the contents of these bottles analysed, Daniel."

"Well, of course we are!"

"Ew.  I am not looking forward to that lecture."  And Jack resumes playing with the shiny implement, which, now that Daniel can see it more closely looks like a speculum.

"Um, Jack, do you know what that actually is?"

Sam catches Daniel's eye and shakes her head slightly, a mischevious glint in her eye.  Daniel bites back a laugh.  Thankfully, Sam's sense of humour has survived her injuries, which is good because she's going to need it even more now.

"No, do you?"  Jack snaps the instrument like a beak and Daniel has to look quickly away to rein in his laughter, feigning ignorance.

"Not a clue, Jack." 

At that moment, General Hammond appears in the doorway, his face grave.  Jack stands, thankfully putting his new toy down.

"At ease, Colonel."  Jack moves aside to let Hammond sit next to the bed.  Daniel slides Sam's keyboard closer to her hand.

"How are you doing, Sam?"

>Good thank you

"That's good." The general coughs gently. "I've had word from the Pentagon about your…assignment."

Jack draws in a breath.  The general glances over at the two men and then back at Sam.

"Do you want us to go?" Daniel asks quickly.

Sam instantly shakes her head.

The general puts one hand on the bed. His touch is light, in contrast to the heavy set of his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Sam, but they're recommending a medical discharge.  With full honours, of course."

Daniel immediate impulse is to rush to Sam, to envelope her in a hug and pour out his overflowing sympathy. He doesn't, though, because as if he has read Daniel's mind, Jack's hand has closed around Daniel's wrist like a vice, pinning him in place. Sam is studying the table top in front of her like she is somehow going to find her cure written in the fake wood grain, teeth pressed so deep into her bottom lip Daniel thinks she must be able to taste blood. She's holding it together, though, in front of the two men she has always wanted most to impress. Daniel is grateful that he is not one of the two.

General Hammond, kind soul that he is, takes her hand. His voice is gentle. He knows what this means to her.

"Sam, we knew that it would be the most likely outcome of your injuries, considering the nature of your work and the fact that there hasn't yet been any improvement." His tone says he might know it, but he sure as hell doesn't have to like it.

Sam nods, still just clinging to her composure.  She lifts her other hand to the keyboard.

>Thank you

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news.  But," the general tries to sound optimistic, "once the doctors have a better idea of your situation we can explore other options, rehabilitation...  We'll still need your expertise, Sam."

Jack finally speaks, though his voice is rough. "Yeah, you're pretty indispensable, Carter."

"Would you like me to let your dad know when he gets back?" That means Hammond will bear the brunt of Jacob's reaction and spare Sam.  She nods again.

"Alright."  The general pats her hand, then rises.  "I'll come back down soon. We can talk about your options." He looks towards Daniel and Jack, assessing, then nods almost imperceptibly. "Colonel, if you wouldn't mind?"

Jack casts a glance at Sam, who is just about managing to hold it together. He seems to accept that she'll need a little while to fall apart and preferably when he is not in the room.  He turns his look to Daniel, who tells him wordlessly that he can pick up whatever fractured pieces he needs to, if Sam will let him.  Satisfied, Jack follows Hammond from the infirmary.

As the door closes behind them, Sam closes her eyes. Tears slip from under the lids. Her courage has finally failed her. Daniel sits down close to her bed.

"Oh, Sam, I'm sorry."  She shakes her head, abruptly cutting off any more sympathy, eyes still closed.  Daniel removes his glasses and rubs his own eyes wearily.  "Do you want me to go too?"  She nods. He reaches for her hand and grips it tight, feeling her squeeze it in reciprocation with as much force as she can muster.

One more squeeze, a kiss to the top of her head and he leaves her to her silent tears. He'll be back soon, after he has finished cursing the unfairness of the universe and contemplating how much his heart is breaking for his friend.


	5. Falling to my knees

When Jacob returns, he usurps Jack's place by Carter's bedside. Jack has to content himself with a stool at the foot of the bed. The older man settles himself, considering his daughter. Jack's gut tells him that what's coming isn't good news, and by the wariness in Carter's eyes he knows she's got the same feeling.

Jacob speaks, finally. "The doctors don't know if anything can be done to repair the damage." This statement is not news to anyone. They all knew this weeks ago.

He continues, "But I've recently become aware of another option. If you're willing."  He pauses. Takes a breath. "A Tok'ra symbiote."

At this, Jack's world stops dead on its axis.

He hadn't considered this possibility. From Carter's absolute lack of response, he figures she already has. Unbidden, a memory of her face flickers across his mind, her features dulled by his fever-haze, her eyes tear-bright and filled with anguish. He remembers her voice, pleading. And he remembers the feeling of a snake burrowing into his mind, and the hell in which it left him. Bile rises in his throat and he desperately fights the need to vomit.

But Jacob is not finished.

"I know we've been down this road before," his eyes flicker towards Jack, "and because of what happened last time, the High Council have decided that this cannot be a temporary measure. I'm sorry, kiddo. You'd have to join the Tok'ra."

Carter is still for a long while. The minutes tick by in silence. Carter stares at Jacob. The two men stare at her. Finally she lifts her hand to the keyboard. 

>I understand

>Time to think

"Sure, Sammie. You want to be left alone?" 

>Yes

Her eyes finally move from her father's face and lock on to Jack's, but he can't decipher the message he thinks she's trying to convey. Can he see sorrow? Resignation? Or something else? He keeps his own face carefully neutral, something at which he knows he excels, and pats the blanket next to her foot.

"Let me know if you need anything. Or, you know, if you wanna talk. Type. Whatever."

She blinks, and the corner of her mouth lifts slightly. He smiles gently at her in response.

Jacob leans over to kiss her forehead, but her eyes never leave Jack's. He forces his gaze away and follows her father from the room.

 

************

 

Jack walks behind Jacob until he's sure they're out of earshot of the infirmary. Then he grabs the older man's arm and swings Jacob round to face him. Selmak clearly resents this: his eyes flash bright, but Jack is not put off.

"Jacob, what the hell?"

"Jack?"

"'The High Council have decided'? Did you even _try_ to get them to do this another way? She can't just run off to join the Tok'ra!"

Jack's fury is threatening to overwhelm him, but Jacob is infuriatingly calm.  He raises his eyebrows at Jack's hand on his sleeve. "You're talking to the wrong person here, Jack."

"I thought I was talking to her father, Jacob."

"Yeah, you are." Jacob's tone has grown colder. "Her father, who _did_ 'run off' to join the Tok'ra. Her father, who can't fix her any other way. Because if you hadn't noticed, Jack, she's not going to run off anywhere, anytime soon!"

"This is nothing less than blackmail, Jacob." Jack hisses. "Join the Tok'ra or keep your brain damage. What kind of a choice is that?"

Jack, that was almost _my_ choice. Join the Tok'ra or die. And I don't regret it. Blending with Selmak has been an incredibly rewarding experience and I'm glad I got to have it."  He sighs. "Yeah, I wish that this hadn't happened to my daughter and that she didn't have to make this choice, but you know what? I'm looking on the bright side. I'll get to see my little girl a hell of a lot more often than I do now."

"But what about us - the SGC, SG-1?"

"What about you, Jack?"

"She's just gonna walk away from everything here? This is her life -"

"She'll be _saving_ her life by coming with me.  Yeah, she's had a great career, but, hell, Jack, she's being discharged from the air force. And the alternative to joining the Tok'ra is one I don't even want to think about."

Neither does Jack.  But the thought of her becoming a Tok'ra makes his stomach churn.  He wants a third option but no-one else seems to be looking for one.

He realises that Jacob has continued.  "Look, I know you're reluctant, Jack, and we both know why. You had a shit experience with Kanaan, and Sam did with Jolinar. Nobody's denying that. But you two were unlucky.  The Tok'ra are good people, and I think Sam will be happy with them.  I am."  He lowers his voice and moves closer to Jack, glancing around him.  "I also know there's more to your outburst than that. I know you care about her-"

"Jacob…" Jack warns, automatically scanning the corridor for personnel who might overhear.

Jacob returns Jack's glare with understanding in his eyes.  He obviously decides not to force the issue, and steps away.  But he hasn't finished speaking.

"I know your feelings towards the Tok'ra, Jack.  You've made them very clear.  Just…" He looks pained.  "Just think about Sam.  Maybe she'll make you change your mind about them."

Jack stares after Jacob as he walks away.  He _is_ thinking about Sam.  But, he admits, he's thinking about himself too.

 

************

 

For the first time, really, since the Tether was removed, Sam is thinking about herself.

The reality of her...injury - she doesn't know how else to refer to it - is so terrifying that until now she's been doing her best to focus only on the present moment.  On slowly writing her mission report. On reviewing stargate activity logs and upgrading dialling protocols. On not falling to pieces every time she tried to move and couldn't. She let her dad try the healing device and let the doctors run scan after scan, and then let their words wash over her when the outcome of all their investigation was ' _We don't know'_. The future looked pretty bleak: it wasn't hard to ignore it. 

When it occurred to her that a symbiote would probably be able to repair the damage her thoughts took on a more hopeful colour.  Then she remembered the consequence of Jack's short-term blending with Kanaan, and the tint quickly faded to a nauseating grey. But in her thoughts it was always a short-term blending; she hadn't thought that the Tok'ra would demand this sacrifice.

Is it a sacrifice?

She would just be swapping her work here for work there so similar as to be almost the same.  She would be with her dad - when he wasn't on assignment - and she would be able to explore all the technology to which the Tok'ra had access.

She would be healed.

She would have the full function of her body.  She would have her voice.

But she'd have someone else's voice in her head, speaking with her mouth.  She'd be sharing her body with another.

Like a tidal wave the memory of Jolinar sweeps her feet out from under her and steals her breath. It takes a few moments for her to regain her balance.

_Jolinar took advantage.  Just like Kanaan took advantage of Colonel O'Neill._

She knows that a true blending is different. She can see it every time she looks at her dad.

Her dad and Selmak are the anchor that she clings to now. He has been more of a father to her and her brother since their blending.  He is a better person with his symbiote.

But he's had to leave Earth. That would be her price too. She would have to leave her _life_. It's not just her job she would be leaving, but the other half of her family, her friends, the future that she might have had.

Painfully, she forces herself to admit that the future as she once saw it is gone anyway.

Her future now, if she refuses the Tok'ra's offer, is one in which she has to accept this paralysis, this helplessness.

She can't do that. She would be shipped off to a nursing home and left there to waste away. Despite what General Hammond and the colonel have said, the likelihood that she could still work as part of the Stargate Program is slim to non-existent.

She can't stomach that possibility. That life under this mountain and out there amongst the stars would all continue without her, her friends visiting her every now and again when they had the time, until work got too crazy or until something happened…

She thinks of Cassie and of Nirrti's genetic experiments that nearly killed her. She thinks of Daniel ascending. She thinks of Teal'c brainwashed by Apophis. She thinks of the colonel in the hands of Ba'al.

She knows she cannot accept that. She would never be able to live with herself if something happened to them when she could have had the power to do something about it. By accepting the Tok'ra's offer she can continue to be a part in this struggle. She can make the choice to still make a difference.

She makes that choice.

Now she just has to make her peace with it.

 

************

 

Navigating sleep that night is like walking across quicksand. Sam keeps being dragged inexorably into a dream in which she's offworld, her weapon in her hands, her team by her side. The planet looks familiar, but as they walk further she realises in confusion that she's lost. She turns to the guys but they're no longer in her line of sight.  She radios to the colonel but the only response is the hiss of static.  Fear tightens its hold on her. Automatically she raises her weapon except that her hands are empty and she's not wearing her vest.  She turns on her heel to head back to the gate – where she thinks the gate will be, anyway. Before she has gone ten paces she's running, and when she reaches the DHD she is sprinting and gasping for air.  She punches in the co-ordinates and leans heavily on the central crystal but there's silence when she expected the kawoosh.  Looking up, she stares at the place where the stargate should be, but where the stargate is no longer. Instead, the colonel is there, crouched behind the steps which lead nowhere, facing into the trees, eyes and weapon trained on the undergrowth.  He yells at her but though she can hear him she doesn't understand the words he's speaking.  Fearing enemy fire she ducks below the DHD. None comes. When she raises her head again, he is spread-eagled on the dirt, eyes staring sightlessly up at the alien sky.

 

************

 

When she finally wakes, Colonel O'Neill is there, sitting at her bedside, head bowed. The sight of him helps pull her out of the clinging dream and back to weary reality.

"Hey."

She blinks, momentarily seeing the dream-O'Neill behind her eyes, untouched but so very clearly dead. She shivers.

"You want a drink?"

She nods. He holds a cup for her, guides the straw to her mouth. He has done this before for her when she was injured, and then she'd been appreciative but now that it's her new normal she feels uncomfortable. Now it's not just that he wants to do it: he _has_ to.

She reaches for the keyboard.

>You not going home

He shrugs. "You know me. It feels weird leaving the base when one of you guys is in here."  He glances around at the room. He's probably as familiar with it now as she is. 

>Long time now

"It's not like I've got anywhere else to be, Carter."  His answer is softly spoken and directed to his hands, clasped together, his elbows on his knees. He sounds so resigned.  There's loneliness seeping out of him.  It is deeply sad but pathetically inevitable that a life outside work should consistently elude each member of the flagship team.  It is why they are so surprisingly successful.  But that means they have to be each others' all: father, mother, brother, sister, child. 

Just...not lover.

>Did you want to talk

"Yeah," he sighs. "Look, Carter, I know the Tok'ra didn't give you much of an offer. I know it might not seem like you've got a lot of options. But I wanted you to know, if you didn't want to take them up on it, you don't have to."

She frowns, confused as to what he's trying to say. Has he developed magical healing powers that she doesn't know about?

She shrugs.

>No alternative

"That's not strictly true, Carter." He rubs his face, then grimaces.  "I know you don't have any family close by, no-one to..."  He looks up at her from below frowning brows. "I just want you to know that I'll do it."

Sam tilts her head in question, wariness stilling her breath.

"I'll....look after you. If you didn't want to - get snaked - blended -"

>No

"But Carter... Sam, I…"

"No!"

The snap of her voice, otherwise silent for so many weeks, is sharp in the quiet room. The effort required to force that word out should tell him all he needs to know. She wants this conversation to end. 

He obviously gets the message. After a long moment, clogged uncomfortably with all that is unsaid between them, he stands, resting his hand on the table in front of her. His long fingers linger for a few seconds, hesitating. She wonders what words he's trying to find. But he turns to leave without a sound.

Before he disappears through the door, he half turns back to her, his familiar profile visible over his shoulder. Almost inaudibly, even in the silent infirmary, he breathes,

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm so sorry."

Then he's gone.

Inside her useless body, Sam writhes in mortification. She closes her eyes, refusing to let frustration and regret overcome her.

Of all the ways in which she has wanted to be more to the colonel, _this is not it_. Not for him to be her nurse.

If she's honest, what she wants is to speed along the road with him pressed to her back, his arms around her waist, tingling from the contact and the thrumming engine of her bike. She wants to sit with him by his pond in Minnesota, at the cabin she's never had the courage to visit. She wants to fall asleep in his arms, naked and sated, to wake next to him, dishevelled.

She doesn't want him to have to push her wheelchair, cut up her food, give her a bedbath. Even if it meant being with him, that is a future she will never allow to come to pass. She wouldn't _be with him_ in the way she wants.

There are some truths of which she is absolutely certain. Not many scientific ones now, after seeing and doing some of the things she's seen and done. They break what she believes to be the laws of the universe on a regular basis.

But truths relating to Jack O'Neill - those she is sure of.

That she loves him. A bone-deep, burning, unquenchable love. She has known this for years.

That she holds the power of life and death over him. He chose to not die when she asked him to live. He took a symbiote when she asked, even though he despises the very idea.

But he would rather die than lose her. He told her so.

Is that the reason he has offered to look after her? To keep her safely here? Because he loves her?

She cannot ask. That is the truth which will now forever remain unknown.

Because she has made her decision to leave. The idea of remaining as she is now is appalling to her. It is selfish, but she wants her body back. Even if that means sharing it with a Tok'ra symbiote.

If she does not know exactly what he feels for her then leaving him will be easier.  If she doesn't _know_ that he loves her, if she can persuade herself that his feelings are simply those he would feel for a friend, a teammate, then she can persuade herself that she's not betraying him by leaving.  By accepting a symbiote.

She knows that the idea of a symbiote is disgusting to him. Once she's a Tok'ra, she'll never be accepted by him. Not the way she has always wanted to be.

So, in a nutshell, she doesn't want Jack if she were to stay, and she knows that he won't want her if she goes.

But she has to go. For herself, for her own sanity. Even if it means saying goodbye to him, and all that they could maybe, one day, have had.

And if he really does love her, she just hopes that he'll understand, and that maybe, one day, he'll forgive her.

 


	6. Words on my tongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to comment - your feedback is more than ample repayment for the anxiety of posting each chapter of this story. There's some more angst on the way, but I worked extra hard in penance and finished off two chapters. I hope you enjoy them! (Well, angst notwithstanding...)

Sam requests that she be joined by her dad, General Hammond, Colonel O'Neill and Janet. She'll deal with Teal'c and Daniel later.  Teal'c would be ok, but she wants this over without Daniel's incessant questions and comments.

She has her answer typed out ready. At a glance from her, Janet reads it aloud.

>I'm very grateful to the Tok'ra for their offer and, after careful consideration, I have decided to accept. It was not an easy decision, and it is not without great sadness that I will leave Earth, the SGC and everyone here.

Honestly, it was easier to write formally. But maybe she should have tried to write it more like she would have said it. Maybe then Janet wouldn't sound like she's reading a eulogy. It's hard not to miss the sound of tears in Janet's voice, but she keeps reading without faltering.

>Hopefully this will only strengthen ties between Earth and the Tok'ra and we can keep working together for the common good.

Seriously? 'The common good'? She really should have read this over before calling everyone in; she sounds like the worst type of smarmy politician. But she hadn't wanted to spend too long over it - like ripping off a band-aid, she wanted the pain over quickly. She risks a glance at Colonel O'Neill, steeling herself for meeting the sneer he wears when dealing with politicians, but his expression is completely blank. She's not sure he even heard.

>There's so much that I'd like to say but it is all better said in person, so I'll keep it until I come back to visit. For now, I'll just say thank you to everyone, for everything.

Well, that was marginally better. Hopefully it came across as heartfelt as it was meant to be.

Janet looks up at Sam once she's finished reading. Sam feels tears in her eyes reflecting those in Janet's.

"Oh, Sam. I'm sorry I couldn't do more to help."

Sam just shakes her head and hopes that Janet accepts it as absolution from any and all blame. She reaches for the keyboard.

>I'd like to see Cassie before I go

"Of course, I'll get her here as soon as I can." She looks up at Jacob and the General. "When... I mean, how long till you'll have to leave?"

Jacob appraises Sam for a moment. "Whenever Sam's ready. But maybe sooner rather than later."

 

************

 

>Who will I be blended with?

It is Selmak who answers. "It is a young Tok'ra called Cairin. I believe you will like her."

>Has dad met her

Selmak's chin drops and then her father answers. "Yeah, I have.  She's- well, to be honest, she could use a little of your level-headedness.  But she's passionate.  She really cares about people."

>OK

>What does she do

"She helps worlds which have been abandoned by the goa'uld reclaim their sovereignty.  She helps them make sense of any technology that is left behind, or salvages technology that would be unnecessary or dangerous to the inhabitants.  And she also helps them create governing bodies, re-establish agriculture-"

>Sounds like Daniel

"Yeah, actually, she'd get on well with Daniel."  Jacob chuckles. "Maybe not so much with Jack."

>Not a soldier

Jacob hesitates for a fraction of a second before answering, "No.  Not a soldier."

>Good

Jacob doesn't press for elucidation of her answer.  Sam's glad, because she's not exactly sure why the idea of stepping away from the front lines is so appealing.  After all, it's partly so she can go on fighting that she is joining the Tok'ra.  But she doesn't want to fight right now. 

"Is there anything else you want to know?"

Sam shakes her head.  There'll be time enough to learn about her symbiote after the blending.  A very long time.  She'll just accept that her dad and Selmak like her.  She trusts their opinion.  And she does like the sound of Cairin's work, even though she'll be completely out of her depth in the diplomatic bits.  Maybe she'll be able to help with the technology.  And she'll still be going offworld, still exploring...

Just not with a gun in her hands and Jaffa at her back.

_...There's a rustle in the leaves behind her. She turns abruptly, her weapon swinging round. The muzzle is knocked away by the closed mouth of a staff weapon. She cries out. A thick arm snakes around her. Something metallic knocks the back of her head. It is cold, a shard of ice stabbing into her skull, surrounded by a ring of fiery teeth biting into her flesh. All motion drains from her into the chill void at the top of her spine. She slumps to the ground. Panic floods her. She hears boots racing towards her. Gunfire. A shadow passes swiftly. The colonel drops to his knees beside her._

_Help me, help me, help me..._

"Hey, Sam, you OK?"

She can only nod, gasping.

"Doctor?" Her dad's on his feet, yelling.  Sam can't tell him that she's really OK, not when her world has been reduced to a pinprick of awareness and her lungs just can't fill quickly enough.

Janet hurries over to her and places fingers over her wrist.

"Her heartrate's going up."  Sam hears her say over her head.  "Sam, honey?  Sam?"

Sam looks up finally and manages to focus on her friend's face. She draws in a long breath and then holds it, concentrating on the swelling of her lungs within her ribs.  It helps.  She does it again, and again, each time blowing out long and slow.  Janet strokes her hair softly, understanding on her face.

"Panic attack?" She asks. Sam nods.

"Better now?"

No, not really.  Sam's shaking like a leaf, so brittle that she might crumble in a single gust of wind.  But she nods.

It's for the best, joining the Tok'ra. Maybe then she won't feel so helpless.

 

************

 

Cassie has been to see Sam often since she was injured.  Janet told Sam how Cassie had railed at her for not being able to help Sam. She was touched by her daughter's faith in her ability to heal anything.  But there has never been pity for Sam in Cassie's words or face, just sympathy and understanding.

After the Tok'ra made their offer, Cassie was relieved.  It seems that the idea of Sam in a bed was more distressing to the girl than the idea of Sam with a snake in her head. 

"She's not going to be like the other one, is she?"

>Jolinar

"Yeah."

>No

>Selmak likes her

>Says she helps people when goauld have left

Cassie takes this in, her head tilted, her gaze unfocussed.  Sam's pretty sure she's thinking of Hanka and her own people, and the damage that Nirrti wrought.  Then the soft pensiveness is gone.

"You're just going to swap one underground base for another."  Cassie grins.  "But I bet it'll be nice to wear something other than your uniform for a change."

Sam envies Cassie for just taking life as it comes, but should she expect anything different? Cassie's grown up in full knowledge of the galactic weirdness that Sam's spent only the last six years wrapping her head around.

As Cassie says goodbye, she hugs Sam tightly.  Sam wishes she could hug Cassie back, and the desire must be visible in her face, because Cassie says softly,

"Save that for when you come to visit?"

Sam nods, and Cassie strokes her hair, just like she had after Jolinar had died. Sam fights the urge to cry, to turn her face into Cassie's soft palm and weep.

And Cassie keeps on blindsiding her with emotions, because then she says, "I'll look after Jack, OK?  This must totally be freaking him out."

 

************

 

Sam's dreading the conversation with Daniel, but surprisingly he doesn't rant and argue. He considers her with that look of his that seems like he's reading hieroglyphics carved into her soul and finally, finally says,

"OK."

When she just stares at him, he adds, "It's what has to happen, isn't it?"

Her eyebrows shoot to her hairline. That was _so_ not the response she was expecting. He says as much, then adds,

"Hey, when I got dealt the crappy hand, I ascended, remember? We're just lucky we get the opportunity to change our fates. At least you'll still be able to visit. And hopefully you'll be able to lend us a hand when we need it.  Which we will."

The warmth of his acceptance spreads through each and every useless limb, just as her answering smile spreads crookedly across her face.

 

************

 

When she informs Teal'c he is characteristically stoic. Maybe it's just easier for him to be accepting of a symbiote when he was dependent on one for his whole adult life, at least until recently. And, after all, it was the Tok'ra who have made it possible for all Jaffa to live free of their symbiotes, with a little help from the Pangarans.

"It has been an honour to serve with you as a member of SG-1.  And it will be an honour to serve with you as Tok'ra."

At that she blushes.  She is certain that she'll never be worthy of the high regard in which he holds her, and equally certain that she'll never be able to convince him of that.

"But," he adds, his face sad, "you will be missed."

 

************

 

It's her last night in the mountain - her last night on Earth - and Sam is perusing her mental list, checking off task after completed task. Daniel and Teal'c have left with promises to see her off tomorrow morning. Janet's gone home to Cassie with the last of the cupcakes from Sam's impromptu leaving party and her dad has taken himself to the guest quarters. It's finally quiet on the infirmary level. Sure, there are people still here and there, but there's nowhere near the volume of daytime traffic at this late hour.

In fact, there is only one item on her list still not checked. Just one person who was conspicuously absent from the goodbye gathering.

Colonel O'Neill.

In the last few days she has seen him only briefly, every meeting severely professional as she leaves him with instructions for tying up the loose ends of her life. At those times, in what passes for daylight this far underground, he's been business-like, almost terse. He's been every inch Colonel O'Neill, her commanding officer. After she so decisively declined his offer to look after her it was what she expected but still it saddens her.

But while she is still only Sam Carter, she'd like to see him. To say goodbye. Not to her CO, but to the man who made that offer. The man who smirks at her across the commissary table. The man who comforts her when it's all become too much.

It's late now but she doesn't sleep.  She keeps her eyes on the door, waiting. She wouldn't blame him if he doesn't show, but still, she hopes.

And he doesn't fail her. He's never failed her before.

He pauses in the doorway, unsure of his reception. For a split second it seems like he'll think better of another late-night tete-a-tete, but then he sidles in. After all, this infirmary is the place where they let their guards down, the only place they've ever been comfortable showing intimacy. If ever there was a time and a place for this farewell, it is now, it is here.

He draws a chair up to the bed and gives her a lopsided smirk. She smiles back cautiously. She hopes he's begun to forgive her. From his smile, it seems so.

"Hey. Not asleep?"

>Not much need

"Yeah, I guess you don't get so tired lying around all day. Nothing like evading a platoon of Jaffa to guarantee a good night's sleep." Then he grimaces, as if he's only then really heard what he just said. "Shit. Sorry. I meant..."

She cuts him off with a shake of her head. Truth be told, she's grateful that he made the joke.  The distant, forbidding persona he's been wearing for the last few days has gone completely and she's unspeakably relieved.

>Don't miss that

He evidently concludes she didn't take offence. "No, guess not. But, hey, you've been getting to spend all day every day working on your geek stuff."

>Slow going

"Yeah..." In the awkward pause that follows, he rubs the back of his neck and sighs.

Sam lets her gaze rest on him while his is averted, imprinting his face on her memory.

"So, shipping out tomorrow."

She nods.

"You're gonna do great things, Carter."

She shrugs.

"Although this does mean the Asgard'll have to make two stops whenever they need us to save their little grey butts. You know, one here, one...wherever you'll be."

She smiles faintly. This attempt at levity doesn't really make it off the ground, but she'll play along.

"Actually, he might not need to call on us anymore. Cause you'll be...you know...double trouble."

His words cut into her because she knows exactly how much effort he must be making to seem accepting of her decision.  No matter what she's been telling herself, in this second, her decision really does seem like betrayal.

>I'm sorry

"Not your fault, Carter."

His eyes are boring into her, driving home the truth of that statement. There's an unspoken command in those four words: _Don't blame yourself_. She wonders if he knows what she's apologising for. Of course he does.  He can see right into the core of her being. He is doing it now.

"It's OK, Carter. I know why you're... It's not like you have too many choices here."

>I wish

But he cuts off the slow words emitting from her tremulous hand.

"I know," he says softly. "Believe me, I know. But...it is what it is."

>Thank you

Now he smiles softly, a real smile, and tips his head.

"For what?"

>I've learnt so much from you

"Think nothing of it."

>It's been an hon

"Stop."

The softness in his voice is gone.  That single word is a gunshot, warning her off unstable ground.  If she continues, the earth beneath them will crumble and they'll both fall into the blackness. And from the way his jaw is clenched, he may already be clinging to the rockface with his bare fingertips, no matter how many jokes he makes.  He takes a breath, steps forward onto _terra firma_.

"You...watch your six out there."

She won't test his restraint. He's moved the conversation out of the deep; she'll follow. She's always followed his lead.

>I will

"And you can always bring us some cool toys." The smirk returns. She sees it now for what it is: a mask to hide the emotions he won't let himself show.

>Ditto

He stands.  Puts his hands in his pockets. Glances at the door. "So I'll, ah, see you tomorrow."

He's not going to say the words, she realises. This is what she'll get of goodbye. The rest is too hard to say out loud.  This goodbye is not just to a friend and colleague, but to all the unknown answers to the questions she's never asked and all the confidences he's never shared. In this dim light, the pain reflecting from her eyes to his and back again reveals that they both know it.

And yet, he leans down to her and presses a soft kiss to her forehead. There are no regulations between them now to forbid it. She closes her eyes, letting that touch overwhelm all her senses. Against her skin his lips move, but his words are so faint they don't even brush the edge of her hearing.

Then the sensation is gone, but she keeps her eyes closed. That way she doesn't have to watch him leave.

 


	7. Tears on my cheeks

The next day, the day she leaves the SGC, it takes every ounce of self-possession Sam has to not fall apart.

She wishes she could just cry. Everyone around her is all false smiles and bravado, but underneath the masks they're melancholy, like they're preparing her for her own funeral.

But she won't cry because she can't allow people to think she doesn't want this. She does want it. That's what she's convinced herself and she's sticking to her story.

She won't cry because she fears her friends will see only self-pity in her tears and not the sympathy she's feeling for their pain. She realises that they're already grieving for who she was. When she sees them next she will be an alien to them. She'll come with company. She won't be just their Sam.

So she swallows the tears and mumbles her thanks, the words garbled by her clumsy tongue. She hopes her eyes convey the gratitude she feels.

_Anyway, tears wouldn't be a relief. Not when someone else would have to wipe my nose._

And then, with her dad and Janet at her side, she is wheeled towards the gateroom where there is a contingent of Tok'ra to carry her through the stargate to their new base. But it's not just the Tok'ra and her team. The space is crammed with what seems like every member of personnel that can possibly fit between the four concrete walls. There are scientists lining the corridor, the white of their lab coats glaring under the fluorescent lights. It feels a bit like a parade.

When she finally makes it to the end of the ramp, her face is set, jaw clenched, eyes wide, fighting back the tears. Her team knows what that face means. They know she's going to need help keeping her composure. So the colonel leans in a little like he's going to tell her something he shouldn't and winks.

"Sorry there's no bunting for the occasion, Carter."

Teal'c looks around, a small frown playing around his eyes and mouth. He doesn't miss a beat. "I do not believe there is sufficient space for anyone to bunt, O'Neill."

Oh god, her guys. _Her guys._ She manages to blink back the tears and smile, but it takes a monumental effort. Their banter just makes the urge to cry greater. She's going to miss them so much.

Daniel can't quite crack a joke, but at least he doesn't look like this is the last time he'll ever see her. "Send us a message when you get settled in."

"Yeah, a postcard would be great." The colonel's eyeing the four Tok'ra who are standing off to one side, tense and impatient. She's suddenly glad for all the pomp and circumstance of her departure: let the Tok'ra understand in just what regard she's held here. She hopes they're suitably overwhelmed.

It's lucky she can't speak because she would never be able to do justice to this occasion. Janet kisses her cheek, unashamed that her own are wet with tears. General Hammond grips her hand with both his own.

"Godspeed, Sam. Jacob, take care of her."

Her dad nods at George, and then speaks a few quiet words to the other Tok'ra. They each take a handle of her stretcher in one hand and a case of her few possessions in the other. They start walking up the ramp.

Colonel O'Neill snaps upright. "A-ten-HUN!" His voice rings out over the collected forces and they move as one. Still Sam manages to hold it together as hands whip up into salutes which frame every regretful face.

Amidst the sea of military solidarity, Daniel raises his hand in a tiny, sheepish wave. It's so utterly characteristic of everything she loves about this place that the tears finally spill over. But it's OK. They'll mingle with the rippling blue of the event horizon as she says goodbye to Earth and no one will notice.

 

************

 

The tunnels of the Tok'ra base must create a singular sort of mentality, Sam concludes. There's no right angles anywhere, and the ceilings are too low.

She's taken to quarters of some sort. There's an alcove with a bed made up in furs and colourful woollen blankets that remind Sam of the textiles of the Pueblo Peoples. Opposite the bed are a couple of chests, but otherwise the space is bare. Just the irregular blocks of metallic blue which make up the walls.

She's transferred carefully to the bed, and the four Tok'ra bearers leave with quiet farewells just as her dad enters, Garshaw at his heels.

"Samantha, welcome. Are you comfortable?"

She nods.

"Selmak has explained your situation to us," Garshaw continues. "Would you like the blending to take place right away, or do you need some more time?"

Oh, there's a question.

Her thoughts spin round and round unproductively like water draining down a plughole. It takes her a long time to answer, so long that Jacob finally prompts,

"Sam? Kiddo?"

She nods, frowning.

"Do you need some more time?"

Sam takes a deep breath and shakes her head. Garshaw's solicitous concern immediately replaced by brusque efficiency. She leaves the room with a small bow, returning minutes later with a Tok'ra Sam doesn't recognise, carrying between them a tank in which coils a symbiote.

_Her_ symbiote.

In a way her father was lucky, she muses. He knew next to nothing before he became a host. Sam knows too much. She's been through it before.

It must be visible on her face, that churning reluctance, because Garshaw sits unexpectedly on the bed next to her and when she speaks, it's in the light, soft tones of her host, Yosuuf.

"I'm sure you must be very nervous, Samantha. And unlike many of our hosts you have already carried a symbiote and in such circumstances as made it most unpleasant. But your blending with Cairin will be how it should be. You will experience all the wonder of the blending, and I'm sure Cairin will be as gentle with you as possible."

Her dad takes her hand.

"Take my word for it, Sam. This is an amazing life." The earnestness in his face is touching.  He wants so much for her to share in this part of his existence.

With difficulty, Sam swallows. Just like when she woke after the Tether was removed, she locks her gaze to her father's and doesn't let go.

"Are you ready?"

She nods.

 


	8. A snake in my head

'Hello. I'm Cairin.'

The voice in her mind is higher in register than she would have expected.  It is far more feminine than Sam's own and musical in its lilt.

'Hi. I'm Sam. But I guess you know that.'

'Well, yes, I was told your name, but little more than that.' There's a pause. 'I know you have had some experience of a symbiote before, but I also understand that it was not a true blending. I don't know what you expect now, but I tell you now that I will not access your mind without your permission, except when there is dire need.'

'Oh. OK.' Sam lets the last words sink in. 'Well, yeah, I guess I thought you'd just...know everything.'

There's something like a laugh in the voice as it replies, 'Where would be the fun in that?'

Sam has no answer for that.  She had never thought that this experience might be _fun_.

The voice continues, 'I'd rather find out all about you gradually. We will, after all, hopefully be blended for a long time.'

Sam feels a brief flash of panic which she can't hide from her new houseguest.

The voice becomes deeply contrite. 'This scares you. I'm sorry.'

'No. No, it's just... This wasn't what I planned.'

'No, I suppose not.'

'Do you...'

'Yes, when I first awoke within you I was informed of your circumstances so I could decide for myself if the situation was acceptable and whether to proceed.'

A remembrance flashes into Sam's mind.  She is looking up at her father and Garshaw, her mouth moving.  Except that she wasn't controlling her lips and tongue and she has no recollection of what was said.

'Yeah, I think I remember something.'

'You would have been marginally aware. I wanted to keep you as detached as possible, just in case I did not agree to the terms of our blending.'

'I'm sorry, what do you mean?'

'Well, whether I liked the sound of you, and whether I was willing to heal your injuries.'

'And...?' She is afraid to ask.

'As for the second item, I am still working on it. I think I will be ultimately successful, but it may take many days for me to give you back full mobility. As for the first item, your father and Selmak gave you a very good character reference. I admit, I was intrigued.'

'Is that good?'

'Very. I am looking forward to getting to know you. But right now, would you like to try moving your arms?'

Sam hesitates. She is afraid her sanity will not survive another failed attempt to use her limbs but warm encouragement is welling inside her. It's disconcerting, feeling these two conflicting emotions simultaneously. Her confusion distracts her from her fear and the encouragement wins.

She lifts a hand from the bed.

Her arm moves smoothly, her hand rising to hover above her. In a second it is joined by her other hand. She splays her fingers, turns her palms away, then back again. She curls her fingers into fists, then lowers her fists to her chest, pressing them painfully into her flesh.

She draws in breath after shaky breath, clenching her jaw against the sobs that are building in her throat. She revels in the tension in her muscles, the pervasive cramps that are spreading through the fibres as she holds them taut. Her thoughts follow the line of every ligament, every tendon, between each muscle and each bone. She marvels at how a series of infinitesimal electrical signals can control the fundamental movement of fragile flesh.

Before she was injured she'd never given any thought to how wondrous it is to move with so little conscious effort. She needed something; she reached for it. She wanted to go somewhere; she walked. She wanted to greet someone; she opened her mouth and words came out. All automatic. All processed without thought. Until it was stolen from her, she had taken common, everyday motion for granted.

Now, thanks to Cairin, that effortless action has been restored to her. At this moment, any sacrifice she has made to be here seems like nothing. But she can't tell Cairin this in words. The incoherent joy, amazement, gratitude flowing from her will have to speak for her.

And, of course, the smile that blossoms freely on her lips.

Cairin seems to understand.

'Now, rest, Sam. We have still a great deal of healing to accomplish, and I can work more quickly when your brain is inactive.'

'Ok.' Sam is already exhausted from sheer relief. 'I'll try. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to go to sleep though. This is all a lot to take in. And it's kind of weird knowing you're there.'

'I understand. Would you like me to help?'

'How?'

'There are many ways. I could simply shut down your mind, but that is quite forceful and I doubt you would find it pleasant. Some do, however. Or I could provide you with something gentle to focus on to encourage a resting state. Do you like to hear the sound of the sea? Or birdsong? Or music?'

'I don't know. Music, I guess. I don't often hear a lot of birdsong except when I'm off-world, so I'd probably wake in two hours expecting to take watch.'

'As you wish.' Cairin's voice carries amusement. 'Sleep well, Sam.'

Faintly, Sam hears a gentle melody, the low, breathy tones of some kind of pipe rippling through her mind. It takes her no time at all to follow the notes into oblivion.

 

************

 

'So, how does this work? The blending. You said you won't access my mind. Does that mean you can whenever you want?'

'Yes.'

'Can I read yours?'

'In a manner of speaking, but only if I initiate it. I have to feed you the information you seek. You see, I'm already in your brain, but you aren't in mine. Does that make sense?'

'Yeah, but that's kind of unfair.'

'Indeed it is. It is how the goa'uld can claim superiority over their hosts. If I choose, I can control you. But I don't choose.'

'That's...reassuring, I guess. Thank you.'

'Thanks here must go both ways.'

'What do you mean?'

'You thank me for restoring the full function of your body and for not controlling that movement permanently. But I must thank you for letting me share your body. Without you, I might as well be a fish. I cannot walk or communicate, cannot exist outside water.'

'Yeah, I guess.'

'So if you think about it, it is the hosts who give the goa'uld their so-called superiority. Where would their prodigious minds get them in the absence of opposable digits?'

'Huh. I've never thought of it like that.'

'You see now that I know exactly how you felt when you could not speak or move. I feel that same helplessness whenever I am without a host. You give me the gift of speech every day. Blending with you means that for once I have been able to give the gift back to my host.'

 

************

 

'How many hosts have you had?'

'You are the eighth.'

'Wow.'

'Indeed.'

'So you retain seven other people's experiences.'

'Yes. Although with each new host my memories of the earlier ones grow dimmer.'

'I bet that's a bit of a relief.'

'It is.'

'Who...?'

'My last host was called Tia.'

'How long were you blended with her?'

'I do not know how to reckon it in your years. Her sister's grandchildren were grandmothers themselves while we still were blended.'

'Um...so at least a hundred Earth years? That's... That's a long time.'

'But not as long as it could have been.'

'I've never even considered living that long. In my job you have to prepare yourself for an early death, not the opposite. I didn't- I didn't ever think I'd be contemplating watching all my friends...die...long before me.'

'It is hard. It is one of the reasons why Tok'ra have few friends who aren't also Tok'ra.'

'Well, I didn't really have any friends outside the SGC, so we definitely have that in common.'

'We do. But, Sam, don't you think it would be better if we didn't?'

 

************

 

'Sam.' Cairin's gentle voice draws her from sleep. 'Sam!'

'Cairin. How long have I been asleep this time?'

Cairin lifts her hand to check Sam's watch.

'17 hours.'

'You know, that's still really weird. It's like those dreams where you find yourself doing something that you have no previous recollection of.'

_I just ended that sentence with a preposition._

'What does grammar have to do with anything?'

'Nothing.' Only, Sam knows exactly why that particular grammatical point has a special meaning for her. She just doesn't want to discuss it with Cairin. So she changes the subject. 'Do you dream?'

'I do. Perhaps one day we can share our dreams. For now, though, I believe I am finished.'

'What? Really?'

'Yes. Would you like to stand up?'

'I think so. Yes.'

Tentatively, Sam pushes herself into a sitting position and swings her feet off the bed to touch the grey floor. She moves her weight shakily from the blankets and stands, like a colt, on weak and wobbly legs. Then she collapses back to the bed.

'Thank you, Cairin. Thank you, thank you, thank you.'

'Sam, it is my pleasure.' Cairin's words carry touching sincerity, but also gravity. 'With the war at the stage it is now, we are needed more than ever and there is little freedom to search for new hosts. If the goa'uld find us and come after us again like they did at Revanna, I would not want to die in the raid because I had no legs to carry me to safety.'

'I'm not sure these legs will be carrying you anywhere any time soon.'

'We can work on that. But now you need sustenance or you will wilt away like an uprooted weed in the midday sun.'

'Yeah, food sounds great. But a shower sounds better. I've been lying in a bed for way too long.'

'You enjoy showers?'

Sam shares memories with Cairin, of hot water pounding on tired muscles, of sleep washed away under the stream. Washing the grime of another planet off her skin, the reassurance of the mundane activity: _I made it back_. The way the rushing water could hide the weakness of her tears when they didn't all return home unscathed.

In return, Cairin shares memories of elaborate bathing rituals in lamplit tents, musky scents heavy in the air, of dips in cool rivers and the battering deluge of waterfalls.

Sam likes this part of being a host. It feels like the whispered midnight confidences of sisters, something that she has never experienced.

'We must find clothes too.'

Sam looks down at the scrubs she's been wearing for - well, she doesn't know how long.

'Oh. Yeah.'

'I'm not sure how much will be available since the evacuations of Revanna, but we should be able to find something. May I?'

They've not swapped control of Sam's body while she's been fully conscious, and she is a little bit anxious at the prospect.

'Just relax,' Cairin prompts, 'and don't fight me when I take over.'

Sam takes a deep breath. 'You know, there's another first time in a woman's life - a human woman's life, I mean - when you're advised to relax…'

Sam knows that Cairin knows exactly what she's talking about. Amusement makes Cairin's voice sparkle as she replies,

'Firing an automatic weapon, perhaps?'

Sam laughs. 'Absolutely. I'm an excellent marksman, you know.'

And while their shared humour is billowing around their minds, Cairin takes full control of Sam's body.

Sam has a momentary flashback to Jolinar's forceful possession but it dissipates almost immediately. Yosuuf was right: this is better. It's like two friends sitting at a campfire, sharing a cup of coffee. When you give up the cup to your friend, you might feel the chill of its loss, but the warmth of the friendship makes its loss insignificant, and you trust that, soon, you'll be offered it back.

Jolinar snatched the cup, drained the contents and stamped out the fire.

Although they are intending to head to the bath, Cairin doesn't move immediately from the bed. Instead, she says slowly, 'I never liked Jolinar.'

'You didn't?'

'No.' In Cairin's few recollections - they did not meet often - Jolinar is cold, calculating, manipulative. The only time she showed warmth was when she was around men, and even then it was self-conscious, as if she was constantly gauging their response to her.

'Martouf followed her without question, like a well-trained puppy.'

There is no bitterness in Cairin's tone. She is simply stating a fact. And yet, Sam bristles slightly at the less-than-flattering description. She's not sure on whose behalf she feels the indignation: her own or Jolinar's.

'He was a lovely man,' Cairin assures her, 'but you never witnessed them together. Jolinar did not deserve his devotion.'

Sam, a little apologetically, shares the revelations about Jolinar's escape from Netu, and what that meant to Martouf. It does not surprise Cairin.

'It may have been necessary, but…'

'We do what we have to to survive.'

'Could you have done it?' Cairin is curious rather than accusing.

'I don't know. I've never been put in that position.'

_I've never been left behind._

'But in the end, Jolinar sacrificed herself for me,' and ultimately led her to this point, to perching on the edge of a bed in a Tok'ra underground base, preparing for a much-needed breakfast.

Cairin is quiet while she ponders this.

'Yes, I suppose that may be considered something of a redeeming act. But she may not have needed to had she been less arrogant and more honest.' There's tight disapproval constricting Cairin's thoughts with these words. Sam senses that Cairin despises Jolinar's dishonesty more than her arrogance, and although this amuses Sam, she feels infinitely reassured by the revelation.

'So. You mentioned a bath?'

 

************

 

Bathed and dressed, Sam heads to the refectory.  Sam feels a little awkward in her Tok'ra clothing, although it is perfectly comfortable, but she tells herself she would feel even more awkward wandering around in the jeans and sweaters that Cassie packed for her.

She is curious about her meal; it's not like she hasn't eaten in a Tok'ra base before, but at the time she hadn't thought about how the food was acquired.

'Just like everything else, we trade for it offworld. We all have our own favoured markets and farmers and, as long as there is no imminent threat or great hurry, we will bring back for storage such goods as we can. Sometimes there will be specific requests for items: a committee oversees stocks and issues orders to replenish when necessary. Tia and I served on the committee, as we can, if you wish. Since my work takes me to many relatively peaceful planets, where the peoples are often desirous to form trade partnerships, we were often in a position to acquire a wide range of goods.'

The large room houses two long tables with benches on either side, at which sit a few Tok'ra. There is a platform formed within one wall, covered with platters and dishes of different foods. At one end, on what look like they might be hotplates, stand large vessels of steaming broths. There are unknown breads, meats, cheeses, fruits and vegetables. At least, they're unknown to Sam, but as her eyes take them in, Cairin is imagining their flavours and texture.

It's the same when Sam glances at the people who share the room with her. She herself knows no-one, except, perhaps, the man over to the left who is absentmindedly eating chunks of fruit while he stabs a handheld crystal screen with his free hand.  She thinks he might be one of the Tok'ra who bore her from the SGC to the Tok'ra base.  However, Cairin knows everyone here and shares her mind freely with Sam, resulting in a confusing blend of ignorance and deep familiarity. She heads for the food.  Her stomach is definitely reminding her that she hasn't eaten in a very long time.

'Start small,' Cairin advises. 'Don't overfill your stomach.  We can always come back later.'

Prompted by Cairin's knowledge, Sam soon fills a small plate with a selection of fruit, bread and cheese.  She'll work up to meat.  It's odd, she thinks, to be sitting in such a quiet dining hall. No-one is speaking.

'There'll be conversations aplenty going on in their heads, though,' Cairin laughs.

'But it's no fun when you can't eavesdrop,' Sam replies.  'There'd be times when we'd sit in the commissary, not talking, but all listening to what people were saying around us.  Teal'c was the best at it, for obvious reasons.  He had all the good gossip.  Daniel and I weren't so much use – we'd get distracted by our own thoughts and wouldn't follow the gist of the discussions.  Colonel O'Neill…' She pauses, smiling to herself at the image of the colonel, spooning food into his mouth and smirking as he chewed. '...he'd never pass on anything that he heard.  He just enjoyed it to himself.'

'How very gallant of him.'

At this moment, another Tok'ra approaches. He's as elderly as she's ever seen a Tok'ra, with wispy white hair haloing a wrinkled, swarthy, kindly face.

"Cairin. Samantha Carter." He obviously means it as a greeting.  It reminds Sam of Teal'c.  She nods in reply.

"I am Amtet. My host is Pelchimguar." His voice is a low monotone, devoid of inflection.

"Hello."

"I see that Cairin has been successful in curing your paralysis."

"She has.  I'm very grateful."

"As she should be, to find such a valuable host.  We hope we may have chance to work with you in the future."

Cairin supplies the information that the pair are experts on the stargate.

"Yes, that would be... I'd like that too."  Why does she find it so awkward, talking to this man? He seems satisfied, though, and he smiles slightly before he wanders out of the refectory.

'Don't worry, I do too.' supplies Cairin. 'Amtet's more machine than flesh, I've always thought.'

Sam considers her empty plate and uncomfortably full belly.  She has a fleeting yearning for blue Jello, handed to her over her shoulder as she works, long, masculine fingers wrapped around the stem of the dish.  She takes a deep breath.

'So what now?'

Cairin sounds positively gleeful as she answers.  She's been looking forward to this moment for days.

'Shall I show you my work?'

 


	9. A hole in my heart

'What did Amtet mean when he said you should be grateful for your host?'

There's the briefest of pauses before Cairin replies, caution in her voice,

'I have been...unlucky.  My last two hosts have died unexpectedly.  In the line of duty, you might say.  Tia was found rather quickly – some might say that she was too inexperienced and that contributed to her death.  I do not think so.  She was a-'

Cairin breaks off, but not before Sam feels a stab of pain and guilt and grief that is not her own but which snatches her breath regardless before Cairin roughly breaks off the connection between their minds.

'-a wonderful woman.' Cairin finishes carefully.  'You, on the other hand, have much combat experience and a great deal of knowledge and understanding.  I can only be the gainer by the blending.'

Sam does not press, though she has no doubt there is more that Cairin isn't telling her.  She can only begin to understand what it must mean for Cairin to lose her host.  Already she can feel their two selves intertwining and she has only been blended for a few days.  She thinks forward a hundred years... But it's too massive to contemplate.

'Here.' Cairin stops at a dark doorway. 'This is my chamber.' Sam can sense fondness and excitement in the thought.  They step forward into the room and light gradually fills the space.

The chamber is large and very full. Around the walls are platforms which bear a plethora of items. Down the centre of the long space large containers are stacked haphazardly. Cairin steps forward and lifts the lid of the nearest, peering inside with interest.

'What is it all?'

Cairin runs her fingers - Sam's fingers - over the items in the open container.

'Miscellaneous technology, for the most part. Items overlooked by the goa'uld when they abandon a planet, either because they have left in too much of a hurry or because it is of no value to them. Nothing in the way of weapons, of course.'

'And you know what all of it is?'

'No. Not all. Some are fairly easy to identify. Others require investigation.'

Sam spots a familiar large device in one corner.

'Is that a solar radiation shield?'

'Yes!' Cairin is delighted that Sam recognises it. 'Unfortunately broken, but I think it can be repaired. I brought it back because the planet it was left on was uninhabitable. There may be people on another planet who will be glad to have one. How come you to know what it is?'

Sam demurs, 'Maybe that's a story for another time.' She doesn't like to think about Jonas or what happened on P3X-593, and really doesn't want to share that particular experience with Cairin. At least, not right now.

'Very well.'

Sam quickly changes the subject. 'Some of these items do not look goa'uld in origin.'

'They are not. Sometimes I will request samples of unusual technology that I believe may be of use to other peoples. I can then either give the device away, or, more usually, help them to fabricate their own.'

'That's really good of you.'

'I do what I can to help, where I can. I try to ensure that I do not prematurely advance a particular society, so it can sometimes be difficult when I could give people an item that they need but I know they are not technologically ready for it.'

'We've been on the receiving end of that argument a few times,' Sam says, thinking of the Nox. Then Nareem's face flashes across her mind and she instantly sobers. All the Tollan's advancement didn't save them in the end. She gives herself a little mental shake, dislodging that train of thought.

'I'd have thought that this is all kind of peripheral to the Tok'ra's primary objective. Why do you do all this?'

'This war will end.' There is fervent hope threading Cairin's thoughts. 'One day we will need _these_ items more than we will need weapons and shields. One day the Tok'ra will no longer need to live in tunnels like frightened animals. One day. But for now I act as custodian for technology which we will one day need more than we do now.' She pauses, and her thoughts take on a steely edge. 'Of course, there are those who believe I waste time and resources. But one day, I will prove them wrong.'

Sam is silenced momentarily, shaken by the sheer force of Cairin's determination. She concentrates, but she cannot detect in Cairin a single shred of doubt that her prophecy will come to pass. Sam has only been fighting this war for six years but even she has moments when she despairs that they will ever prevail, especially now, when Anubis seems to be besting them at every turn. Cairin has been fighting for over a thousand years and yet she still believes to the core of her being that the goa'uld will eventually be defeated.

Enmeshed as their thoughts and feelings are, it is hard for Sam not to feel that surety seeping into her bones the longer she ponders Cairin's words.

'So, what was your plan for all of this? What do you want us to do?'

There's a smile in Cairin voice as she replies,  'I was hoping that with your expertise, we might finally be able to fully catalogue what I've collected here, and start trying to understand some of the pieces I have not yet been able to identify.'

A room full of tech toys and unlimited time in which to play. Sam feels a little like she's been given an early birthday present. If she had control of her hands right now she'd be rolling up her sleeves. Her thought makes its way between them, because Cairin does just that. The sensation is oddly grounding.

'Right. Where do we start?'

 

************

 

'What's this, Cairin?'

'A biological specimen containment unit.'

'Please tell me there's not pickled goa'ulds in there.'

'There are not pickled goa'ulds in there.'

'OK, that's good. So...'

'Take a look.'

'Seeds?'

'That is correct.'

'But, I hate to break it to you, there aren't any gardens here.'

'Really? You astonish me, Sam.'

'Oh, ha ha.'

'It is true, we have no opportunity to tend gardens or fields. But I view these seeds the same way I view the technology by which  we are surrounded. We Tok'ra will one day live on the surface of a planet. At the very least, even should we choose not to grow our own food, we may wish to grow plants that are beautiful to look upon. A culture that scorns that which grows around them is truly dead. Have you ever noticed how barren goa'uld ships and palaces are? And then they invade lush planets rich in vegetation, and sweep it all away like so much rubbish to expose the rocks and the ores in the ground.'

'Tell you what, when we visit Earth, we'll bring back a pot plant.'

'I would like that very much. Then you can explain what it means to talk to it.'

 

************

 

It's the silence, Sam thinks, that really gets to her.

It is quiet everywhere. They're on an uninhabited planet covered with dense forest and mountains. And under the mountains a network of tunnels sparsely populated with people who have little need and less inclination to spend time in idle conversation.

Other than the mountains and the tunnels, she can't think of a situation less like that which she is used to on Earth, and it is unnerving.

There, she would be surrounded by sound. Beeping machines, airmen gossiping, ventilation ducts rattling. There was silence inside her own head, at least. Sometimes, when the answer to a problem was eluding her, there was too much silence.

Of course, her head is now the only place where there _isn't_ silence.

Bizarrely, Cairin is the one normal aspect in what seems to Sam some days like a crazy dream from which she can't wake up.

She is reassurance when Sam feels uncertainty. She is close when everything Sam loves is far away.

She has a vision and a purpose when Sam feels like the stars that she was navigating her life by have suddenly winked out, leaving her in darkness.

So she throws herself into Cairin's work with almost deranged energy. This, at least, is familiar: the technology under her hands, and that she has to be reminded to eat and sleep. The obsessive focus helps, in a way. It helps her ignore the ghosts that loiter on the edge of her vision.

She knew she would miss them. She knew that joining the Tok'ra would entail some loneliness. She just didn't realise how insidiously all the little things had worked their way into her subconscious.

She misses the comfort of Teal'c's solid, silent presence and the repose she finds with him because he just understands. She misses the passion in Daniel's voice and the energetic motions of his hands when he's speaking about even the most mundane topics. She misses the way Janet purses her lips when she's hiding a smile. She misses General Hammond's birdlike briskness, so incongruous in so large a man.

She tries hardest to ignore how much she misses Colonel O'Neill. She tries not to remember how he would look as he loped with feline grace along the corridor, or how she would feel when he peered over her shoulder as she worked. But she can't banish the disquiet his remembrance brings, the confused longing, the feeling of betrayal sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone.

Despite her best efforts, the colonel evades every attempt to eradicate him completely from her thoughts. But this, at least, is the same as it has ever been.

 

************

 

'Forgive me if I'm wrong, Cairin, but you don't seem particularly comfortable here. With the other Tok'ra, I mean.'

'I suppose I am not.'

'Can I ask why?'

'Perhaps...perhaps it is because, as we have already discussed, I have a very different outlook. My vision sees further than theirs. But sometimes it seems that I am made uncomfortable by them, and sometimes that they are made uncomfortable by me.'

'Maybe a bit of both?'

'Maybe. Regardless, I have little need to rely on the other Tok'ra, except if I require assistance with technology. Fortunately, though she comes from a technologically-unsophisticated planet, my new host is quite proficient with alien technology.'

'Hey, watch it!'

'At least I did not say backward...'

'If you had, I was going to tell Amtet that you fancied him.'

'That's very juvenile, Samantha.'

'I've spent almost my whole adulthood working with guys in the military. You have no idea how juvenile I can be.'

'I hope I never have to find out. But, turning your question back on you, do you not feel that you are becoming one of us?'

'Oh. I don't know, Cairin. I've only been here a few weeks. You're great, and I'm so thankful to you, but being part of the Tok'ra movement... It sort of chafes. Sometimes, it's too different to home. Other times, I guess, it's too similar. I keep being reminded of things. I just wish...I wish that...'

'That you could at once enjoy the advantages of the blending and be back home. We could relocate, I suppose. I could continue my work on Earth. It might even be possible to rejoin an SG team.'

'Oh, I didn't mean... I guess, I hadn't thought of that. But it wouldn't... I mean, there would be a lot of problems to sort out. I'm not sure... It probably wouldn't work.'

'No matter. If it makes you uncomfortable...'

'No. Yes. I mean...maybe we'll think about that later. So, do you have friends here?'

'I like Yosuuf.'

'But not Garshaw?'

'Garshaw is too...fierce. She is like a battering ram. She tramples those in her way, anyone who shows less than perfect devotion to her cause. Yosuuf is gentle. Girlish, I suppose. She cares. She the kind of woman who would have made a good mother or sister or aunt. In a way, her maternal instinct has made Garshaw a sort of mother to us all.'

'I can see that. But you like dad and Selmak.'

'I do. Unfortunately, they are rarely here, as you know yourself. Of course, there are other Tok'ra who do not go into the field.'

'Like you.'

'Ye-es. But I do go offworld occasionally. There is also Amtet, although he is more sedentary now due to the age of his host, rather than from any desire to stay. Anise and Freya choose not to go into the field as well. They say they are scientists, not field agents. But you yourself know that you can be both.'

'You don't like them?'

'No, but not because there is anything essentially amiss with either. It is simply a clash of personalities. Anise is absolutely humourless. She does not relish, or even understand, the smallest joke, which I find rather wearing. And Freya is incredibly shallow.'

'Yeah, if I'm honest, I didn't like them very much. None of us did - maybe Daniel liked Anise. But then, they didn't give us much reason to. You know, Freya made a pass at – at one of my team.'

'It does not surprise me.'

'It was really bad timing...not that I was there, of course. I was told about it later.'

'As I said, they don't get out much. And there are pretty slim pickings around here. Though, from what I understand of your team, she made a good choice, I must give her that. I take it she was not successful in her...pass?'

'No!'

'Poor Freya. Ah well, perhaps she will be more successful next time.'

 

************

 

_...and on the way back to the gate, Teal'c fell into a hole.  Well, it was a pit designed to trap large animals so it was too big for Teal'c to climb out of. Luckily, the locals were friendly and were quite happy to help haul him out, and the only thing that he hurt was his pride. He didn't say a word on the trip back, but Jack made up for that with neverending Lewis Carroll jokes. Every few days he's got a new installment of his 'Teal'c in Wonderland' story, and it's not going to be long before Teal'c snaps and throws Jack into the next hole we come across._

_It's still just the three of us on SG-1; every day outside my office there's a queue of people wanting the fourth spot coming to me to ask if I can put in a good word with Jack. I'm thinking of moving my desk to the control room. There's probably more privacy there._

_They've given your lab to Chloe, like only a female scientist can work in there. She's glad to have a bit of peace and quiet, but Felger doesn't like it much. I think he was hoping for the lab - you know, because it was yours. I was surprised it took so long to be reassigned - you know how valuable space is around here - but I think there was a hope that you'd come back and would want your lab to work in. I guess you're settled in now - when do you think you'll be able to visit? Cassie and Janet are dying to see you and so am I, but we understand if you're busy. I'm looking forward to hearing about all the places you've visited. Jack just wants to know if you've found any big, honking space guns but I told him you'd have let us know._

_Don't be a stranger, hey?_

_Love, Daniel._

Sam closes the lid of the laptop and puts her hands over her face. It tears her up that her friends must think her long absence means she has forgotten them, when the reality is that the thought of them is like a petulant child tugging at her sleeve, constantly begging her to turn around and notice them.

She can't face the thought of returning, not yet. She fears that once she steps foot back on Earth she will never be able to bring herself to leave again. She worries that tearing herself once more from the grip they have on her would tear a hole in her heart that she'd never be able to heal.

 

************

 

Cairin sighs to herself.

Sam might be able to deceive herself, but she cannot deceive the being who has unfiltered and objective access to her innermost thoughts. Especially, she thinks affectionately, when Sam is not very good at masking the thoughts she would prefer Cairin not to overhear.

She can see straight through Sam's excuses for why she has not yet returned to Earth. She knows that there is one person Sam is desperate to see more than anyone else; it is the revulsion in _his_ eyes that she is terrified that she will encounter; she knows it is him she will not want to leave but she is afraid that he won't want her to stay.

She has to tread carefully, she thinks. She knows she has a reputation for being a - a hothead, she thinks is the phrase Sam used - but that is only because she cares, and because she has a compulsion to help where she can. But she cares too much for Sam to go crashing forward like a platoon of overeager young Jaffa.

No, she needs to approach this as a seasoned warrior, listening to what is in the wind, preparing her weapons accordingly.

For now, she will let Sam think that she has kept her own secrets. Especially, Cairin reminds herself, because she too has secrets she has not shared.

 


	10. A vision for the future

The wormhole disengages and Cairin strides off into the forest that lies between the stargate and the Tok'ra base on their new homeworld.

'Cairin, do you mind if I walk for a while?'

'Of course not.' Cairin pauses to allow Sam to take over. She stretches herself back into full control of her body.

'Thanks.' Sam resumes her walk.

'I'm sorry. I forget how much you enjoy the exercise.'

'It's OK. I'm just feeling a bit restless.'

'But these visits to my 'pet planets', as you call them, were meant to help you settle yourself.'

'I know, and it _is_ helping. I didn't realise how much I missed going offworld. It's fascinating, seeing what you do. But... I don't know. Do you mind giving me a bit of space for a while?

'Of course.'

Sam feels Cairin recede from her consciousness until there is silence. She doesn't know how Cairin does it, nor how much she remains privy to at times like this. She doesn't want to ask. She likes to believe that she really is alone. It has been long enough now since their blending that it is strange to not feel Cairin's presence, but tonight Sam wants her thoughts to herself.

As she walks, the energy bottled up in her mind bursts out through a thousand tiny fissures, flooding her muscles. She breaks into a run, afraid that otherwise she might explode under the pressure. Nights like this on Earth would see her pulling on her leathers and opening the throttle on her bike until the tension left her like exhaust fumes, a blue trail streaking her wake. Here, there's no other option but to run. Run until the diabolical fuel within her is spent.

Exhausted, she stoops, hands on her knees, until her lungs can draw a painless - shaky, but painless - breath. Then she starts pacing. She's made it back to the base but she can't go in. So she walks round and round the rocky clearing until the last of the light fades from the sky.

Until she's in the dark, on an alien planet, alone.

Sort of.

It's such an apt metaphor for the direction her life has taken that she has to swallow down the hysterical laughter that rises in her throat like bile.

"Sam?"

Sam wheels around, startled out of her reverie. In the faint light from stars and a distant nebula, she can make out the well-known outline of her father. "Dad? What are you doing here?"

"Mission's a bust. Came back to report. Then you showed up on the sensors at the gate and I came out to look for you when you didn't arrive."

She'd forgotten about the sensors, meant to alert those in the tunnels of a ground-based attack. She has never needed to remember them before now. There's usually no-one on base that cares whether she is there or not.

"Sorry. I just needed some time to myself."

"Uh, you're not really by yourself, you know." He sounds like he is struggling to check his laughter. Like she could forget something like that. It's why she's out here, with the night and her endlessly circling thoughts.

"Cairin's giving me some time alone."

When he hears the scratch of hysteria in her voice, her dad steps closer, the smile fading from his face. "That's great. You probably need a bit of time to yourself."

"Yeah. I do." Sam scrubs her hands through her hair, as if she could straighten out her thoughts with the action. "Cairin's great, dad, really. I just... I feel terrible for just wanting to be by myself, you know?"

He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "You want me to go back inside?"

"No!" Sam surprises both of them by the vehemence of her refusal.

Her dad ponders her for a second, then he holds up a finger and his eyes become distant. When he focuses on her again, he says, "OK, Selmak's having a nap. It's just you and me, kiddo."

Unexpected relief flows through her and she hangs her head back, blinking up at the glimmers of light above through unshed tears. Relief, to think that she isn't going to be the object of a silent commentary between her dad and Selmak. Now, better than ever, she understands why a relationship between a Tok'ra and an unblended human would be so difficult. It would be impossible for the unblended one to stop wondering what was being shared between the host and symbiote. She imagines that they would start to second-guess their every action, every word, and slowly drive themselves mad.

She hears rustling and looks down to see her father settling himself on a large rock. Sam gives him a watery smile and sits down beside him, tucking her hands between her knees like a little girl. He throws an arm around her shoulders and tugs her to him. For a moment, she resists the urge to put her head on his shoulder - it's too much like the way the colonel would comfort her. But then she gives in. Comfort is comfort, and who better than her dad too give it to her?

"So, you're not really doing as well as everyone thinks you are, hey?"

"I thought I was, dad, really. But now I feel a bit -"

"Lost?"

"Yeah." She needs to say more, to explain. She can feel it pressing on her but she can find no words in which to clothe it.

Jacob nods, slowly, his jaw lightly brushing her hair, but he doesn't reply immediately. Then he says, "Gratitude can really be a bitch."

"What?"

"Let me guess. You've been doing everything Cairin wants to do."

"Well, yeah. She's got -"

"Important work to do. I know. But so do you."

"But I -"

"Can't do it here. Not all of it, maybe. But that doesn't mean you can't do some of it here. What has George said?"

"I haven't been back yet." Even saying the words is hard.

"At all?" She's jostled as he turns to look at her fully, but she refuses to return his scrutiny, staring at her hands instead. "Sam, that's a long time for you to be holed up here."

"I'm just not -"

"Ready to face them? I get that."

Now she's irritated. "Are you going to finish all my sentences for me?"

He's simply amused. "Maybe. I'm saving your breath." He gives her shoulder another squeeze and rests his cheek on her head. "I've been through this all before, Sam."

How does she keep forgetting that? "You seem so natural with the Tok'ra, like you haven't seemed back home since - I'm not sure when."

"But I've been exactly where you are. Alright, so it was a bit crazy when I was first blended with Selmak, but then I went off with the Tok'ra and I was thrown into the middle of a conflict I knew nothing about, with a race of aliens I'd never imagined existed, with technology I didn't understand. A week before, I'd been preparing myself for death. I was so grateful to Selmak for giving me life that I would have done anything for him. I did. I just walked straight into his world and, you know, I've not looked back. But I don't have your brains, Sam. I didn't have anything tying me to Earth except you and Mark. It's not like I could keep on being an air force general. But you? You've got important stuff to do. I know you're grateful to Cairin for saving you, but you can't give up something that's so important - not just to you, but to everyone - because you're grateful."

He's right, of course. She is grateful. Overwhelmingly so. If it weren't for Cairin, Sam would be wasting away in some nursing home now. Instead she is still able to live the most incredible life and share it with an incredible being.

But now that her dad has spoken the words out loud she can see that in her gratitude for being healed and her disorientation in this new life she has sublimated herself. And for what? To offer recompense for what Cairin has given her?

Her dad resumes speaking. "Cairin is one of the good ones, but she is so focused, so sure of herself, she's probably not even thought about what you bring to the table. It is unusual for a Tok'ra to blend with a host who does the kind of thing you do. Tell her what you need. You'll work out a compromise."

"But that's just it. I'm not sure what I need. Before the stargate program, I used to have a plan. About where I was going and how I would get there. But ever since we first stepped through, things just got crazy. I mean, we'd done it. It worked. I was travelling to other planets… But I've not had the chance to make a new plan. I've been stumbling from one crisis to the next. One day we're learning about technology that I only just about understand and the next thing I know I'm designing spacecraft.... I barely had time to draw breath, you know? I got orders and I followed them and I didn’t have any chance to think outside that. And now…" Her voice has risen until the panicked pitch is echoing off the rocks but her dad soothes her back down.

"Do you really need to follow orders?"

Sam raises her hands in supplication - to whom, she's not sure. "I've lived by them for so long I'm not sure I know what to do without them."

Her dad shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, a sure sign that he's frustrated. "You're a smart woman, Sam. You can work out what it is you want out of your life. And then you can work out how you're going to get it."

"Since when have you been so zen, dad?"

He chuckles. "Selmak's very, very wise. He's taught me a lot of things." That wasn't really an answer to her question, but he continues before she can say so. "He's also old, and so am I, so we're going to go in where it's warm. Have you eaten?"

She had a very big meal on the planet they'd just visited, but that was many hours ago. And after that run, and all those emotions... "No, not yet."

Her dad stands stiffly and stretches.  "Well, come and find me when you're done pacing and we'll get something to eat." He plants a kiss on her forehead and makes his quiet way back inside.

When she is sure he is out of earshot, she turns her face to the heavens and screams in frustration.

He's right, damn him. Well, except for the bit about being smart. She's been pretty damn dense. It took a meltdown in front of her father to help her realise this. And that's just embarrassing.

But she has never been very good at reading herself. She is entirely too used to having someone else tell her what she needs and how she should live. The air force, her team, and now Cairin.

Cairin is so sure. Sure of where she is and what she's doing and where she's heading. Her vision of the future is unwavering, even though the galaxy is exploding around her.

Sam's vision is far more hazy. Sometimes the debris from those explosions blocks her view into next week, let alone the next few years.

And maybe she has been too busy staring at the obstacles to even plot a course through.

She's been constantly reacting, avoiding a collision course, never following her own star, even in her own life. _Especially_ in her own life.

Is it any wonder that she feels she can't dictate the course of the journey now?

_You can work out what it is you want._

Sam sinks back down on the rock she had shared with her father and gazes up into the night sky.

What does she want?

All she's ever wanted is to study the universe. And now that she knows what is out there, she wants to explore technology that can help the people of Earth. She wants to perfect Earth's fleet of spacecraft, the ones she has been so instrumental in creating.

The things she wants haven't changed, she realises. And that's her vision. It all seems so simple.

Of course, what isn't simple is that for her vision to come to pass she needs peace. With this conflict raging around them, nearly all their energy and resources have been spent simply trying to stay alive. There's little left to be spent on scientific and technological advancement.

It's no different to what Cairin wants. Their visions are not mutually exclusive. They can easily travel this journey together. Though she is no longer _Major Carter,_ and though Cairin is now along for the ride, she doesn't have to leave _Sam_ behind.

And when she understands this, she knows that that is what she was afraid of all along.

Now, as she sits there in the darkness, considering the stars above her, she feels calm spreading through the centre of her being for the first time since her blending. The terrible sensation that she was about to erupt has gone.

So she heads inside, towards the refectory and her father, and asks Cairin to join her again.

Over dinner, Jacob and Selmak apprise them of the failed mission, and Sam and Cairin tell them of the planet from which they have just returned. They share jokes, all four of them, and Sam revels in the real, tangible company and the real, audible laughter that spills from her mouth.

There is a great contentment inside her, from herself and from her symbiote. She has allowed Cairin license to glean for herself as much as she wants to know about the revelations Sam has just had. It is nothing Cairin has not experienced many times before. She gives Sam glimpses of memories spanning millenia: her own, her hosts', and those passed on by Egeria. They have all, at one time or another, felt the same despair. And they all, eventually, found hope.

It makes Sam feel a little stupid, all over again. But at least, she thinks, she's in good company.

'And who,' Cairin asks tentatively, 'will be your company now?'

'Well, you, of course,' Sam replies, wondering where Cairin is going with this.

'Yes,' Cairin hedges, 'but if it is only us it will probably be a very lonely journey.' She refuses to say more, leaving Sam once more to her own thoughts.

And so, drowsy and replete with food and laughter, Sam thinks again about what she wants. But now, she thinks about people, not science.

She lets herself want to see her family. Tomorrow, she promises herself, she'll make plans with her dad to visit Mark together. She lets herself want to see her friends. She lets herself feel homesick for them instead of suppressing it like she has done for weeks.

Finally, she acknowledges just how much she still wants Jack.

Not Colonel O'Neill.

Jack.

She allows herself to want the simple pleasures of a couch, and a beer, and Jack O'Neill. She wants to walk with him through the park hand in hand, to sit on a park bench eating hot dogs, their legs touching. She lets herself wonder what it would be like, now that the regulations are gone, to kiss the ketchup from his lips.

She is still Tok'ra, and she has no reason to believe that his feelings towards the Tok'ra have changed. But she lets herself want to find out.

She lies there in the bright blankets, the chamber gilded by candlelight - the only light that can warm the crystalline walls - relaxed, buoyant on wishes but still ballasted with lingering fear. Not enough to ground her; just slowing her progress enough to allow her newly-born hope to keep pace.

Her last, sleepy thought is that hope… hope tastes like ketchup.

 


	11. Deaths on my conscience

Cairin sits on the floor in the middle of her chamber, surrounded by crystals and interfaces, debating possible configurations with Sam, when another Tok'ra announces himself. Cairin looks up, confused.

"May we be of assistance?"

"Your presence is required by the High Council. They request that you proceed there as soon as possible."

"Thank you. We will make our way there now."

She stands, carefully placing the crystal in her hands in the correct position relative to the others, and steps over the apparent chaos.

'What do you think they want?' Sam asks.

'I have no idea,' Cairin replies. 'Perhaps they simply want to ask how you are faring.' She knows she cannot hide from Sam that she thinks this is highly unlikely. Sam's silence confirms this.

'If it is acceptable to you, I will lead this exchange. To keep misunderstandings to a minimum,' she explains.

'Whatever you think,' is Sam's answer. She sounds wary, trepidation prickling at the edge of her mind. However, there's also a sense of drawing-up, of coming to attention. Doctor Carter has been told to take a break and Major Carter is reporting for duty. Cairin smiles to herself. Whatever it is the High Council wants, she's got backup.

She waits patiently for entrance to the council chamber. Around the long table are familiar faces, each unreadable.

"Cairin, Samantha, we see you have been settling in well." Per'sus is imposing, sitting at the head, but his voice and eyes are kind.

"Yes, thank you."

"How are you progressing with your little... collection?" The speaker is Malek.  His eyes are narrowed, his mouth pursed.  He's leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled.  His mouth is twisted slightly, as if contemplating something highly amusing, but his narrowed eyes convey anything but amusement.

_'_ Condescending sonofa-' Sam exclaims silently.

Cairin is matter of fact as she cuts in. 'Malek does not appreciate my work. He thinks I do not contribute to the Tok'ra's cause.' Her disagreements with Malek are old news.

'Why?'

'Not now.'

Aloud, she says evenly, "Sadly, many of the larger pieces were lost in the recent evacuations, but we still have much to study."

"I'm sure you do. But you will have to put your toys aside for now." He's about to say more, but Garshaw puts her hands on the table, commanding everyone's attention.

"Cairin, Samantha. We have an assignment for you." She looks round to the other council members before turning back, as if confirming their unity on this issue. "We have had word that Moloc is rapidly gaining strength," she says, her eyes intent on Cairin's. "We need you to gather intelligence about his forces to decide how and when he may become a threat, and whether we will need to deploy a longer-term operative."

Cairin feels suddenly very cold. Her gaze is boring a hole through Garshaw's head. Garshaw returns it unflinchingly but Cairin thinks she can detect a trace of apology in her eyes. So intent is she, she almost misses Per'sus' next words.

"Due to our recent losses you will not have a ship, but the usual supplies are at your disposal."

Cairin's voice is tight as she replies,

"May I ask why we have been chosen? Surely there are other more suitable operatives?"

Per'sus looks faintly uncomfortable. "There are none available with the combined experience that you and Samantha have." At this, Cairin senses Sam shifting in confusion, but she can't explain now. "This is only a short-term operation. Gather your intelligence and then withdraw. Do you have any questions?"

Cairin can tell Sam has plenty. She can feel her mind fizzing with questions. "No," she answers, her voice strong and steady, but it's sullenness and not confidence that puts the steel in the words. She hopes the other people in the room will not notice the difference.

"Very good." Garshaw hands Cairin a tablet. "Gate coordinates and other information can be found on here. You may go as soon as you are prepared."

"Very well." Cairin grips the tablet in bloodless fingers and turns on her heel.

Malek's voice stills Cairin's steps but she doesn't turn back to look at him. "Let us hope that Samantha's military training will be of service to you, Cairin. But then, knowing SG-1's record, perhaps it won't."

 

************

 

'Most Tok'ra keep and maintain their own weapons and equipment. Of course there are central stores if you lose or damage a piece.' Cairin heads to a stack of crates in a corner of her chamber. She opens the smallest. Nestled inside are ribbon and healing devices, and a box which contains a communications stone. 'These are mine.'

There is a flicker of unease from Sam when she sees the hand device. 'You don't usually take these with us.'

'No, there is usually no need.'

Cairin's words are curt with discomfort. Truly, she feels deeply uncomfortable, both with the orders from the council and because she knows that now she has to reveal to Sam a truth that she has been hiding. It has gone against all she believes in, keeping this secret, but she wanted to choose the right time to tell Sam. It is not an easy thing to disclose, especially to this particular host, with her military background.

'You haven't been assigned a mission like this for a while, have you?'

Cairin knows Sam is pushing for answers, but she can't seem to break her reticence. 'No. Not for a long time.'

'What did Malek mean?'

Cairin doesn't answer, rummaging instead through another crate, this one filled with unfamiliar, very un-Tok'ra-like clothes, all in the most opulent fabrics. She starts a list in her mind - S _omething red, probably. Pants, bodice. Definitely a robe. Where are my boots? -_ But she heard Sam's question and knows what she's asking. Finally, she sits back, her hands falling to her sides. She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders to the confession.

'What the council has done, Sam, is force me to expose my shame to you sooner rather than later. Perhaps without malicious intent - I am afraid I cannot be objective.'

'I'd say Malek was being pretty malicious. But what do you mean, ' _your shame'_?'

'I have no doubt that he wished to be. But the others...' She sighs. 'I was an undercover operative, and a successful one. On my last assignment, I infiltrated Heru'ur's ranks and secured a good position for myself. The High Council was extremely pleased with my success. But before they could formulate a strategy for occasioning his downfall, there was an uprising on one of his key mining planets. He ordered the slaughter of every inhabitant. Every single man, woman and child.'

Sam gasps inaudibly. 'You were the one ordered to carry it out.' Cairin loves this about Sam, that she is quick to join the dots. Now she is doubly grateful, for it saves so much explanation.

'Yes.'

Her memory takes her back, looking down upon the lush planet from the window on Heru'ur's ha'tak, hearing his plans for his vindictive retaliation, fidgeting with the ribbon device she's wearing on one long-fingered hand. She shakes her head, trying to shake the image.

'I couldn't do it, Sam. I _couldn't_ bring about the deaths of thousands of people. So I didn't. And by refusing I compromised my position and the whole mission went for nothing.'

Now that she has shared her secret, she does not hide her memories from Sam. The moment of defiance, the desperate flight, first from Heru'ur's wrath and then from his Jaffa. The return to the council, the revelation of her failure. The information that had followed, that Heru'ur himself had overseen the genocide Cairin could not bring herself to order.

'Although it was not my hand on the trigger, those people died anyway. But no other Tok'ra has managed to work their way in with Heru'ur. So every atrocity he has committed since that day has been laid at _my_ door, at least by Malek. He feels that I should have done it in order to see the mission through. That the loss of those people would balance against those ultimately saved by Heru'ur's demise. And there are others who feel the same.'

Sam is silent as she processes Cairin's story and the revelations of the ruthlessness of the other Tok'ra.

'I cannot but feel responsible for some of what has been done,' Cairin continues, 'but, in the end, I have accepted that I am not to blame for what he did, and continues to do. However, had I ordered those people killed, I _would have_ been responsible for those deaths. It was not my decision but it would have been my hand on the weapon, and ultimately, my guilt. I cannot shift the blame the way others can.'

'Nor can I.'

Sam understands. Every day Cairin is more and more grateful that she was given the chance to blend with this woman. Where she feared recrimination, she has found sympathy. And it is not abstract, it is real sympathy. She can see Sam's memories of a people transplanted, a ship destroying their world, and a naquadah reactor turned into a bomb. She can feel Sam's conflict: an order that was not an order from the colonel, a man Sam trusts, a man Sam is desperate to feel is right, because to her he cannot ever _not_ be right.

Bolstered by Sam's vindication, Cairin resumes her hunt through the crates.

'But this means I am a liability. Since then the High Council have never sent me undercover. But now they obviously hope that you will be better at following orders.'

Sam cannot but assent. She _is_ good at following orders. It is a skill the council would of course be quick to exploit.

Cairin finds a box of jewellery and sorts through it. After a while, Sam asks quietly, 'But if you have not been undercover, how did your last host die?'

Cairin's hands falter on the fastenings of the bundle of clothes and jewellery.

'Tia...'

Cairin is swept away by the force of memory and she tries to shelter Sam from it, thinking it not fair that she be battered by Cairin's grief for a person she has never met. She sees Tia as she was when they first met, a young girl frantic with boredom and ambition and potential. And then, when it became necessary for Cairin to find a new host, Tia had been ready in an instant, no longer a girl, but with a woman's ideals and fire and still the same potential.

In Tia, Cairin found a soul that matched her own. The fire in each fed the other's until they blazed with it.

'I was working on a planet recently abandoned by Apophis when some of Ba'al's Jaffa arrived. The people were terrified. They divulged my presence in order to curry favour. I would not hide, not when by revealing myself I could spare them.'

She pauses, suppressing the memories. The shouts, the taunts, the laughter. The fists, the knives, the pain sticks. The nightmares have told her that Sam needs no more remembrances of these things. She has plenty of her own.

'I managed to escape, but Tia...'

Her breath catches and she finds herself weeping, finally overwhelmed by the wave of emotion.

'Tia's injuries were too severe for me to heal. She died. I could have saved her the way Jolinar saved you, but she ordered me not to. She told me that I could continue to fight for longer than she would ever be able to. And that I should continue to fight in her name.'

'Oh, Cairin...' For once it is Sam who is supporting, encouraging, sympathising, a lifeline in the flood. Cairin can do nothing except desperately ride the waves, waiting for the torrent to slow.

Eventually she regains a modicum of composure, wiping her cheeks with shaking fingers. She is exhausted. Instead of waiting for Sam to nudge, Cairin just...lets go. But as if she's been waiting, Sam takes over as soon as she feels Cairin relinquish control. Then she closes the lids of the crates and retreats to their bedroom, where she undresses carefully and tucks them up into the soft blankets, closing her eyes, mindful of Cairin's needs in a way she never is of her own.

Cairin's thoughts meander backwards through the last hours and all the years of experience that have been churned up along the way. She feels Sam's thoughts like a shadow beside her, following the same path, uncovering, inspecting, discarding, keeping. They arrive back in the council chamber, those hard faces around the table. Set aside your pride, your compunction, your compassion, they seem to be saying. Get results by any means. Ignore your pain: it makes you weak.

'This conflict...it eats away at us Tok'ra.' Cairin's thoughts are measured, calm, but she can hear the breathy note of despair frilling the edges. 'For many Tok'ra symbiotes, they have been fighting so long they have lost their compassion. And in losing it, they have lost their humanity. Sadly, it is easy for symbiotes to equate humanity with weakness - after all, when one outlives host after host one comes to a deep understanding of human frailty. But that frailty is, in fact, a strength. Humans have intimate knowledge of pain. Feeling pain teaches sympathy. Sympathy will keep one from perpetuating pain. It is something that many Tok'ra ought to learn, or we may find that in fighting goa'uld oppression, we have caused more harm than we have sought to relieve.'

'Humans have been fighting for a lot less time than the Tok'ra.'

'But compare what you have accomplished in your short time to what we have taken millenia to achieve. Knowing that one has limited time in which to accomplish all one's desires forces one to strive harder for that accomplishment. Take risks that, ironically, do not seem worthwhile to those of us with longer lifespans.'

'It can also mean that humans never fully consider the consequences of our actions. After all, there's a good chance we won't have to live with them.'

'Yes, but just think what problem solvers that has made you. You do not have the leisure to let events take their course - you must constantly find ways to overcome your problems. Even if you made them in the first place.'

'Many would say we've done more harm than good.'

'I am not one of them. You have advanced our fight immeasurably in the last few years.' Cairin pauses. She lets herself become aware of her host's body, of the heart beating rhythmically, the steady breaths, the blood coursing through limbs all the way to the fingers and toes.

She continues, 'I cannot begin to define all I have learnt from the hosts who have been my companions. I may have been born with genetic memory, but every host has imbued me with sensations and experiences that I would not exchange for all the superiority of my kind. With each host I take I become more human, and I am glad. Tia's last request to me was that I keep fighting. I fight for _humanity_ , as messy and as painful as that may be - it is still wonderful.'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the plunge into the Tumblr pool. Actually, more like a few mincing steps into the shallow end. Come splash with me at joracwyn.tumblr.com


	12. An itch between my shoulders

The second they materialise on Moloc's planet they're confronted with the business end of half a dozen staff weapons.

'What a welcome!' Cairin bluffs, throwing her arms wide in greeting. 'If I had known Moloc was so hospitable I would have visited earlier!'

'You seek my Lord Moloc?' asks one Jaffa, his eyes narrowed.

Cairin's smile fades. 'But of course I did, _Jaffa_.' The word is heavy with scorn. 'Unless you think I came here to see you?' The Jaffa hesitates, but Cairin fires out her order. 'Take me to Moloc.'

The Jaffa share glances, apparently considering the risk level.

"Jaffa, _kree_!" Her carefully-timed impatience does the trick. Two Jaffa raise their weapons and stand aside. Cairin instantly descends the steps from the gate's dais and strides off in the vague direction the Jaffa indicate.

'Do you know where we're going?' Sam asks.

'No idea.'

Sam can't help but consider how strange it feels to be walking, alone, with hostile Jaffa by her side. She's not restrained, she's not been captured. She fights the urge to run. She's going with them willingly.

'Not entirely willingly,' Cairin notes.

'Sorry, I'd sort of forgotten why we were here.'

'I'd noticed. We're gathering intel. So, gather.'

'Right. Sorry.'

It's more than a little frustrating for Sam to be the secondary mind now. She wants to look around but she has no control over where her eyes move. It's a bit like being forced to watch a stage play on a TV screen; the camera is never where you want it. They're walking across a large, roughly-square open area, on the edge of which the stargate is located. Surrounding the clearing is dense, scrubby woodland. There's nothing by the stargate except for the DHD, presumably to allow the movement of large groups of Jaffa and sizeable objects through the gate. 

The track through the trees is wide and easy to traverse and they soon come to the edge of a grassy plateau. Their path leads directly to a large palace. Another wide path, this one lined with columns, leads from the side of the palace to a smaller building from which a line of smoke rises.

'The temple, probably,' Cairin thinks.

Behind the buildings, some distance away so as not to mar the grandeur of the palace, there are tents. Lots of tents, enough for several hundred Jaffa. Sam can make out tiny figures moving between shelters.

In addition, the grassland houses at least thirty death gliders and a handful of tel'taks. In the distance are the construction sites for larger ships.

Sam suspects she's not quite as well-versed in the comparative scales of ha'tak construction as Cairin. 'How many motherships does Moloc have?'

'Well, I would have thought only one or two.  But from the scale of construction I'd say that number has increased significantly.'

The Jaffa lead them towards the palace. Once they have passed through the heavy main doors, it takes a few moments to adjust to the dimness within, but inside there is nothing unusual.  They have seen plenty of goa'uld palaces between them. 

The route to the 'throne room' is circuitous and deliberately confusing, but Cairin is following their path with ease.  Sam can almost feel the memories being laid down just behind her consciousness, ready for access in case they need to make a quick exit.  Along the corridor there are other doorways, some of which are portals into darkness, others which reveal airy dining rooms, a sitting room housing a number of reclining, half-naked men and women, the entrance to a suite of baths.

Eventually they are brought to the presence of Moloc himself.  He looks impossibly young and slight, almost immature, with his curly hair and clean-shaven chin.

"My Lord Moloc," Cairin makes an obeisance which is half-bow, half-curtsey.

Moloc's eyes narrow.  "I do not know you.  Who are you, and why are you here?"

Cairin smirks, a touch vindictively. "So defensive, Moloc.  There is no need to be so suspicious.  Surely your forces here are enough to protect you from little old me?"

"I said, who are you, woman?"

"Do you like her?" Cairin laughs, spinning on the spot, her arms wide, showing off Sam's body. It is displayed to advantage in skin-tight red satin, with a diaphanous robe falling in silken folds from her shoulders. "A new host, but I must admit I am quite taken with her.  So tall... And such legs..." She moves sinuously up towards the dais upon which Moloc is seated and lowers her voice. "I'm sure I can show you a thing or two about her..."

'You wouldn't!' Sam gasps to Cairin, remembering their conversation about Jolinar.

'Of course not! I surmise that Moloc will not take us up on any offer, so do not worry. However, it is a simple – but usually effective – way to sneak past their guard.'

Surprisingly – or not, Sam has to trust that Cairin knows what she is doing – Moloc does seem less suspicious now.  His voice is softer now that the sharp edge of anxiety has left it.

"She is indeed pleasant to look upon.  But you still have not answered my question.  Tell me who you are or I will have my Jaffa shoot you."

Cairin's mouth twists as if she acknowledges the play for dominance that Moloc is perpetuating.

"I am Aoneth." She says simply, as if Moloc should know her name, but he frowns, the wariness returning to his eyes.

"For now, I work for the Morrigan, but..." Cairin looks around like she's hunting for the best phrasing. "...but I grow weary of helping her try to maintain a lacklustre position, at best, amongst the System Lords, whilst she begs for favour amongst those more powerful like a dog begging at table. I have decided that my skills and knowledge may be found of worth elsewhere." She smiles at Moloc. "So I have come to see what you will offer me for what I know."

'Surely he's not going to swallow that?' Sam is slightly incredulous. 'Is he _stupid_?'

"And what do you know?" Moloc's face is alight with avarice.

'He does appear to be.' Cairin's voice in her mind is cool but behind it her thoughts are racing, playing the super-speed game of undercover chess, strategies changing with every moment, every word spoken, each move and countermove taking fractions of seconds.

Cairin throws her head back and laughs.  The sound echoes around the lofty room with a slightly sinister portent.

"No, no, no, Moloc, you know that is not how it works!  We will discuss payment first, and then I will consider whether it will be worth my while."  Cairin wipes the smile from her face, her eyes intent upon his. "All you need to know for now is that the Morrigan was present at the summit of the System Lords. A summit at which you were conspicuously absent.  What will you pay for knowledge of what was discussed there?"

Moloc is silent.

Bootsteps in the corridor outside announce the arrival of a contingent of Jaffa. Sam can sense Cairin forcing herself not to spin around defensively.

"My Lord Moloc!" The six Jaffa fall to one knee just inside the doorway, awaiting his indulgence.

Cairin runs her eyes over the arrivals as if appraising cattle.

"You obviously have other matters to attend to." She turns back to the throne, the mocking half-smile back on her face. "Why don't you have your Jaffa show me to some rooms where I may indulge myself in some...recreation...until you have time to properly consider my offer."

Moloc, his eyes fixed on her, waves his hand at the Jaffa who brought them in. They snap to attention, waiting for Cairin to leave with them.

As they exit the room, Sam becomes uncomfortably aware that in the back rank of the newly-arrived Jaffa, a young warrior is staring at her, his head swivelling as he follows her exit from the throne room. She feels the clichéd itch spread between her shoulder blades as he stares at her retreating back. Her fingers begin to itch in sympathy for a weapon. 

Her alarm has alerted Cairin, who pauses slightly along the corridor, fingers running lightly over a stone figurine in a wall niche whilst she directs her hearing back towards the room they have just left.

"My Lord Moloc!"

"What is it, Jaffa?"

"I know that woman."

"Aoneth? How so? I do not recall my Jaffa having contact with the Morrigan. How, therefore, do you know her?"

"My Lord, that is Major Carter of SG-1 of the Taur'i. You have my word."

"You are mistaken, Jaffa." Moloc's voice notches up a register, betraying panic. "She cannot be. She is a host - I can sense the goa'uld within. We would surely have heard if one of the Taur'i had been taken. Unless..." The silence from the throne room takes on an ugly portent. "Jaffa, _kree_!"

Cairin is already moving. The two Jaffa guards flanking her are brought down with ease. She moves like a striking snake, quick and deadly, but this is no time for Sam to wonder at her skill and strength.

She darts back towards the throne room, ducking inside a doorway they had just passed. The tactic delivers: the Jaffa dispatched by Moloc assume she has run for the exit and continue up the corridor.

'Let me have control. I've done this before.'

Sam's sure Cairin has too, nevertheless she is quick to relinquish control.

_But never without my team to back me up._

She suddenly feels very alone and very vulnerable, despite her symbiote, her weapons, her strength.

Sam takes a deep breath, adjusts her grip on the zat Cairin has just taken from the Jaffa. The ribbon device on her left hand feels awkward in comparison.

Her team may not be with her, but it is with skills honed by years fighting alongside Colonel O'Neill that she makes her way undetected out of Moloc's palace and into the woods between there and the stargate. She might have been green when she first met him but she was a fine pupil. She thinks he would be proud of her progress.

Well, he would be proud only when he stopped being pissed off at her predicament.

As soon as she reaches the treeline, she finds cover and pauses in her flight.

'So, what do we do, Cairin? Wait until dark?'

'That would give us more cover but it gives Moloc the opportunity to put more guards round the gate.'

'Right, because now they're busy searching. Stargate or death glider?'

'Stargate first. Death glider if we can't make it there.'

'OK. Let's get the hell out of dodge, then.'

 


	13. A burn on my thigh

Sam sets off through the trees, away from Moloc's palace, taking a wide sweep to avoid patrols on the main track. She grips the zat but her hands still feel empty without her P-90 and her body feels naked without her vest. It's slow going, dodging from tree to tree, and it's not long before they hear movement in the brush and the unmistakable crunch of Jaffa boots. Sam ducks down and looks round. There's five Jaffa heading in her direction. They're going to pass right by her - if they don't trip over her - and they'll sense her even if they don't see her. She can't use the zat - she's never take them out quickly enough. But there's the ribbon device...

'We're too far away. It's best in close quarters,' Cairin interjects.

So that option is out, then. Sam decides she's just going to have to run for it.

The instant she pushes off, heading for thicker cover, the Jaffa give chase, staff blasts flying around her.

_Red. Why did we wear red? We're never wearing red offworld again._

She's sprinting - well, running as fast as she can through the trees - and at least her lightweight garb doesn't slow her down. She tears off the robe before it tangles in the branches.

_Thank god for the trees or we'd be dead already._

Her lungs burn with each gasping breath and her muscles feel like they're tearing with each stride, but fear keeps her running.

Sam knows she's been heading off at a tangent to the gate but with Jaffa already on her tail she opts to make straight for it. She crosses a small clearing and dives for the bracken on the other side.

_Not far to the gate now..._

She risks a glance behind but she can't spot the Jaffa.

'How'd we get so far ahead?'

'No doubt the hounds never run quite as fast as the fox.'

And then she sees the figures in front of her.

_Especially if they're driving it towards a net._

Suddenly she stumbles, all forward momentum sending her crashing to the ground. But just as she comes to a halt, the earth pressing into her cheek, she feels hands on her. She's dragged off into the undergrowth, the zat torn from her grasp. And only then does the flurry of movement stop. There are strong arms pinning hers to her back, a blade pressed to her throat and a staff weapon filling her vision.

'I'm sorry, Cairin. This is all my fault.'

"Who do we have here?" It's a woman's voice. Sam twists her head carefully, mindful of the knife's edge. There is a female Jaffa pointing the staff at her, dark hair wild around her face, her tattoo proclaiming her Moloc's. "Why are you running from Moloc's Jaffa?"

The colonel hasn't only taught her how to evade. It's time for Capture Tactic number 1: Bluff it out.

"We're playing hide-and-seek. But it looks like you got me. Woops. I think that means it's your turn to hide."

"We are not-" the voice in her ear hisses furiously, but she's cut off as another woman steps quickly into Sam's peripheral vision. She's wearing a leather bodice and a grim expression.

"She is a goa'uld," this new Jaffa says with urgency.

She can't deny it. Time for Tactic number 2: Belligerence.

"So what if I am?"

The arm around her tightens, but at the same moment they hear the Jaffa chasing her getting closer. The women move away quickly and noiselessly into denser growth, hauling Sam with them. The brush hides low stone walls, behind which they duck as the Jaffa run past.

'Wait a second - what's going on? Why are they hiding?' Cairin's silence is a confused as Sam's words.

Leather Bodice steps forward again.

"Who are you?" She repeats in a low, commanding tone. "Despite your words, you were running for your life. Why? Answer me or I shall throw you back to them."

They all have Moloc's tattoo, but they're talking and acting like they're on opposite sides to the Jaffa hunting Sam. So she decides to risk Tactic Unspecified: Go with your gut.

"I'm not a goa'uld. I am Tok'ra and Moloc knows it. I'm trying to get to the stargate."

The women share a look which Sam cannot read.

"How do we know what you say is true?" Wild Hair asks.

"You will have to take my word for it." Sam hopes she looks and sounds as earnest as she feels. "I only came here to look. I'm no match for Moloc's Jaffa. He has nothing to fear from me."

Sam doesn't know what it is she has said, but something in her words or tone has convinced the women around her. She sees the almost feral smiles they exchange; more importantly, she feels the hand pressing the knife to her skin relax, the blade moving away. But they offer no explanation.

"We will get you to the chappa'ai, Tok'ra. It is at present unguarded, but it will not be for long." As soon as Leather Bodice speaks, it is as if she has issued an order. In an instant everyone is moving, hustling Sam along with them.

"Why? Who are you?"

"We are the Hak'tyl." She speaks as if it is a name they must know but it means nothing to either Sam or Cairin. "You say Moloc has nothing to fear from you. Well, one day soon he will have everything to fear from us."

"We must go!" Another female Jaffa beckons from a short distance ahead and they all break into a run. A step behind them, baffled, Sam runs as well.

"Come, Tok'ra." The woman with the knife flashes a grin at Sam as she urges her forward.

They run in the direction of the stargate. Sam can feel her blood responding to the naquadah as they near it. The trees thin and they can see the gate, exposed and unguarded.

"We will accompany you."

"You don't have to - you obviously have business here. But thank you. I hope we haven't made things more difficult."

Knife Woman replies, "On the contrary, you may have made it easier. At least for today. For that, _we_ thank _you_."

That makes no sense to Sam, but she has no time to waste finding out what they're doing there. "Can you cover me till I can dial out? At least, if it won't compromise you."

Wild Hair claps her on the shoulder. "We will do what we can, Tok'ra."

Sam smiles briefly, tightly. And then she runs for the stargate.

She knew it was too quiet. She isn't halfway to the DHD before staff blasts explode around her. The reinforcements have arrived.

The space is completely open. There's nowhere for her to take cover. She just has to run faster, ducking and weaving as she goes, blind to the positions of the Jaffa behind her, hoping that they're not as good a shot as Teal'c.

She thinks she can hear cover fire but she doesn't look back. She has to get to the DHD.

Then a staff blast hits her leg.

She's thrown forward, onto her hands and knees, and she's sure that she's had it, she can't go any further. She's going to be captured. She's going to be killed.

Cairin seizes control and pushes her up, keeps her running.

Sam is screaming but no one can hear except Cairin, who doesn't seem to care. Fire is racing through her veins, fanning outward from the volcano of pain that is her right thigh. With each step it erupts anew, sending the lava up into her torso, down into her boot. But still Cairin keeps running.

'I'm sorry, Sam. I have to.'

Sam can't reply. She wishes for blissful unconsciousness.

Cairin collapses onto the DHD, pressing the coordinates as fast as she can. There are fewer blasts around her: the Jaffa are obviously being kept busy. The stargate bursts to life, and she throws herself through.

She tumbles down a grassy slope on the other side and comes to rest on her back, staring up at a clear blue sky. She is surrounded by the silence of a field in midsummer - the hum of insects, the cries of unfamiliar birds.

Peace.

But Sam can't hear anything over the crashing pain in her body and the screaming in her mind.

'Ssh, Sam,' Cairin whispers as the world fades away. 'Rest, now.'

 

************

 

Sam walks into the High Council chamber days later, not bothering to hide the fury she feels and taking perverse pleasure in the gasps of dismay as one by one they spot the burnt-edged hole in her pants. The wound is still visible, the new skin pink and shiny, puckering around the edges. Sam limps slightly, the underlying muscle not yet limber.

Unsurprisingly, Malek is the first to speak. "I assume that your mission was not a success." He looks a little rattled, but still sounds hatefully smug.

"You could say that." Sam's sarcasm is unmistakable.

"What happened?" Per'sus asks quietly.

"We proceeded as ordered to Moloc's homeworld and sought an audience with him. We were able to gather some intel on the way to the palace. The stargate is guarded only by Jaffa. Moloc's palace is approximately four kilometres away from the gate in open terrain. He has at least two garrisons of Jaffa within close proximity to the palace and more nearer the construction site for a number of ha'taks. He is expanding his fleet significantly and quickly. There are a corresponding number of death gliders and smaller ships."

Per'sus nods. "You observed thoroughly. This corresponds with the intelligence we have so far received."

So it _was_ a test. Sam's fury ratchets up.

"How were you injured?" Garshaw asks.

"Well, surprise, surprise, one of Moloc's Jaffa recognised me. He told Moloc and - well, I'm sure you can guess the rest."

"You escaped?"

"I wasn't captured. I was hit as I made a run for the DHD."

"You were fortunate."

"Yeah, I was lucky. I don't know whose idea it was to send me undercover, but it was a stupid one. You all know of SG-1's exploits. Is there a System Lord out there who _doesn't_ know us? All it took was one Jaffa recognising me. If it hadn't been for the fact that there seems to be mutiny in the ranks of his Jaffa, I wouldn't be here right now."

Every figure around the table tenses with interest.

"What proof do you have of mutiny?" Delek asks.

"I was intercepted by a small group of female Jaffa, all of whom had Moloc's mark, but they weren't working with those who were chasing me. In fact, they laid down cover fire once I got to the gate, and I think they were the reason it was unprotected in the first place. They called themselves the Hak'tyl."

"That is indeed interesting information." Garshaw glances briefly around the table before letting her gaze rest again on Sam. She is uncharacteristically mild as she continues, "As for the decision to send you into the field, it was one of necessity. The possibility that you would be recognised had not, we admit, occurred to us. For this, we apologise."

Sam raises an eyebrow, her jaw clenched.

"The outcome of your mission is not a failure, however," Garshaw carries on, apparently oblivious to Sam's barely-contained anger. "One, it has confirmed that Moloc is indeed to be monitored, but that immediate action is not necessary. We will enquire further into the Hak'tyl. Two, it has confirmed that, for the moment, you will not be utilised as a field operative."

Malek shifts in his chair. Sam can hear Cairin hissing to herself. She's pretty sure that it was Malek who decided on the so-called necessity of their being out in the field and she's glad that Garshaw has so carefully and definitively put an end to his ill-natured machinations.

"If that will be all...?" Sam asks, flatly.

The councillors nod, some less amicably than others. However, as Sam turns to go she is arrested by Delek's voice.

"I assume, Samantha, that Cairin has fully healed you?"

Sam looks back, ready with a defensive retort, but there is nothing but simple concern on Delek's face.

"She has." Delek bows his head, satisfied with her short response, but Sam carries on, "Throughout the whole mission, she was outstanding. I couldn't wish for a more skilled or a more supportive symbiote."

Without waiting for a reply, she leaves.

Cairin's voice in her mind is faintly abashed. 'You didn't have to say that.'

Sam sends her a wave of affection. 'Yes, I did. They shouldn't underestimate you. What you have done in your past - the choices you made - makes you a better person. Even if some of them think you betrayed your cause. I'd rather have you fighting with me than them.'

Cairin has no words, but Sam halts in her passage along the corridor for a moment, so overwhelmed is she by the rush of emotions emanating from her symbiote. There are so many and they are so tangled together she can't begin to work out exactly what Cairin is feeling. But the sensation makes her heart swell.

Embarrassed by their combined feelings, Sam turns around abruptly. Instead of heading for their chamber, she directs her steps towards the refectory.

'You know what? I think this calls for cake. Or, at least, whatever you've got that resembles cake in this place.'

In her mind, she hears Cairin laugh.

 


	14. Baffling my expectations

When Sam leaves Earth, Daniel braces himself for a backlash from Jack but it never comes.

Even after the first message arrives, saying the blending had been successful - or, in other words, irrevocable - Jack remains worryingly calm. Daniel - well, everyone, really - had expected him to explode. Perhaps he is just relieved, like everyone else, that Sam is fully healed. At whatever price it has come.

SG-1 resume their normal mission roster, minus Sam, and life goes on as normal. Or almost normal.

The differences are hard to spot, but they're there. Daniel can see them. Jack's sarcasm is harsher now, less humorous, more biting. He's harder on other personnel: the new recruits are terrified of him. This Colonel O'Neill is a lot more like the one who led the first mission to Abydos than the one who's got so pally with the Asgard.

The only thing Daniel can't work out is what _exactly_ has prompted the change in Jack. He isn't sure if having Sam around made Jack more human or if losing her feels to him like losing Charlie. Neither option makes Daniel particularly optimistic. But at least Jack is still here. He's still working. He hasn't started muttering about retirement. Yet.

Daniel is surprised when he realises he himself is working longer hours, stopping for fewer breaks. It's ironic that this should be the case now Sam has gone, because she was the biggest workaholic of them all. It seems that for her they found reasons to have a life - or maybe they stopped working just so they persuade her to rest. It's certainly true that in the last four months they've met for fewer team nights, probably because it's even rarer now that they leave the mountain.

It's not like they're falling apart as a team: if anything, they're even tighter than before, cementing themselves as a unit around the Sam-shaped hole. Jack has made no move to appoint a fourth, despite Hammond's urging. When, or if, someone finally does come along to fill the gap in the team, they're going to find it pretty impossible to break the trio into a quartet. Daniel wonders if it was this way for the others when he ascended. If so, he feels sorry for Jonas Quinn.

They are together now, although only because they're all in the gym at the same time.  Daniel is thrashing the rowing machine and Teal'c and Jack are thrashing each other. As he watches them, Daniel thinks that Teal'c is having to work harder than normal to stay in control of the sparring. Jack is going all out on the offensive, aggression written in bold type across his face. He's dripping with sweat, clearly exhausted, but still he keeps going, bouncing on his toes, fists flying. Finally, Teal'c manages to duck under one wild swing and sweeps Jack's legs from under him at the same time. Jack crashes to the floor and lies there staring at the ceiling, panting. Teal'c lowers his arms.

"I believe we are done for today, O'Neill," he says with finality.

"Yeah," Jack gasps out between heaving breaths.

Teal'c grabs a towel and throws it at Jack. He doesn't make any move to catch it and it lands across his chest and face. Teal'c carefully wipes his own brow with another. Daniel slows on the rowing machine. Jack groans and rolls over to stand, swaying slightly. He wrenches off his gloves and faceguard and staggers from the room towards the showers, not looking back at the other two men.

"Did you piss him off or something?" Daniel asks Teal'c.

"I did not."

"Then why was he trying to kill you? 'Cause that's what it looked like."

The Jaffa looks towards the door through which Jack has just departed. "There was a communication this morning from Warrick Finn of Hebridan. He asked for Ma- Samantha Carter and O'Neill had to inform him of her new circumstances."

"Ah." That explained a lot.

"Also, General Hammond informed O'Neill that should he fail to appoint a fourth member to SG-1 by the end of the week, General Hammond himself would have to allocate someone. He intimated strongly that should he do so it would be one of the Russian personnel."

"Ah."

"Indeed."

"So, we should probably stay out of his way today, then."

"I believe that would be wise."

Yep, Jack is pretty calm. But, Daniel thinks, Jack's calm and others' anger look an awful lot alike.

 

************

 

Jack isn't stupid enough to test General Hammond when he has laid down an ultimatum, so the next day, seemingly recovered from his bad mood, he has finally picked up the waiting personnel files and invaded Daniel's office with a large coffee and as many pieces of cake as he can safely balance on top of the stack.

Daniel tries his best to ignore the snide comments as each file gets tossed aside, but two hours in he has his hands over his ears and is assessing which artefact within reach is least valuable so he can throw it at the man across the desk.

The klaxons announcing an unscheduled off-world activation have never felt more welcome, so, shoving his notebook away - how did Jack manage to spread chocolate crumbs across his page from two metres away? - he bolts for the control room. He thinks he hears paperwork hitting the floor as Jack follows.

They enter just as Walter announces, "It's Major - I mean, Sam Carter's IDC, Sir." No-one at the SGC has really adjusted to her change in status yet. Whenever she is mentioned, it's still by her rank, as if she has just been off on a prolonged mission, or maybe a holiday. No-one really seems to have admitted to themselves that she is Tok'ra now, despite the communications from her since she left the mountain. A small part of Daniel - the part that is a student of human behaviour first and friend and colleague second - is looking forward to watching the people around him interact with the new incarnation of Sam. Including and especially the man standing next to him, who at that moment is ordering the iris opened.

Daniel bounds down the stairs and into the gateroom, excited, like a child expecting a treat. He's peripherally aware of Jack following him slowly, reluctantly, hanging back as if afraid.

And then she's there, striding down the ramp. Daniel blinks to dispel the momentary vision he has of her walking with the selfsame gait in BDUs, tac vest and holding a weapon, returning from a mission, _before_. Now she's dressed in typical Tok'ra gear, functional, the varying colours of sand. She's wearing the heavy garb like she's comfortable in it, and Daniel notices absently that what she is wearing now reveals a lot more of her shape than the combat gear of the air force.

Most importantly, she looks lean and fit and she's _walking_ , and there's a smile on her face at the sight of him more blinding than the Abydos sun.

He can't help it. He pulls her in for a hug. Tears prick his eyes when she reciprocates warmly, relaxing into his arms, but he is not at all embarrassed. He has missed her. A lot. Messages just weren't enough.

As she pulls away her eyes flick to the man he knows is standing warily just behind him and her smile dims slightly, into something more hesitant, almost shy.

"Sir." Her tone is warm and sweet, like honey. For a second Daniel is sure she is going to step forward to hug him too, but Jack cuts her off with a cold nod, his face devoid of emotion.

"Carter". It's soft, not unfriendly, but sharp. It's a warning as much as a greeting, saying 'this far but no farther'.

Sam's smile falters, hurt bruising her eyes, but she recovers quickly and turns back to Daniel. He isn't going to let her focus on Jack's cold greeting, because Daniel, at least, can be welcoming. Gripping her shoulders, he peers into her face.

"How are you? What are you here for? How long are you staying?"

"We're fine, to see General Hammond, and probably a few days if all goes well."

Daniel isn't sure what Jack means to do now, whether he is going to excuse himself from this awkward moment, or, worse, say something rude right here in front of all the carefully-neutral security forces in the gateroom and the rapt audience upstairs in the control room.

But as always, his friend surprises him. Jack gestures Sam towards the door politely.

"Shall we?"

 

************

 

"Sam!"

"General."

Hammond rounds his desk with arms outstretched. Sam greets him like the family friend he is, with a kiss on the cheek and a brief hug.

"Sam, how many times do I have to tell you? It's George, now.'

"I know. I'm sorry." She gestures to his phone, which he had just put down as they entered. "I hope this isn't a bad time."

"Not at all. What can we do for you?"  Hammond motions her to a seat at the briefing room table.  She sits, clasping her hands on the tabletop.  Hammond sits at the head.  Uninvited, except for a brief smile from Sam, Daniel and Jack sink into chairs opposite her.  Under the table, Daniel notices Jack's knuckles are almost white from the grip he has on his knees.

Sam answers, "I thought it was about time I visited."

"You're damn right."

"And I brought some stuff..." She reaches into a pouch at her belt, pulling out a crystal. "On this is a list of friendly planets Cairin thinks we might want to make contact with - I've put our designations on them so you'll know which ones we've already been to. There's also as much intel on the current positions of the system lords as I can get hold of."

"That's very helpful." Hammond takes the crystal from her and holds it gingerly in his fingers.

"Yeah, I mean, that's great, Sam," Daniel agrees, "But are you sure you're allowed to give us this?"

His suspicions are confirmed by the faintest blush which stains Sam's cheeks at his words, but she is unapologetic as she replies, "The Tok'ra-Taur'i alliance states that intelligence will be shared. I'm sharing."

"We won't tell if you won't, Sam," General Hammond chuckles.

She grins back. "So, if it's OK, we'd like to borrow some of the technology stored at Area 51. I think there might be some stuff I can help with, you know, now I've got a better handle on different technology. If that can be arranged?"

"Of course. I'll have to make some phone calls, but I don't think there'll be a problem. Seeing as it's you."

"Thanks, we appreciate that."

"So, is that all you came for?"

"Yes. And, well, to say hi. I know it's overdue." He voice trails off in what might be embarrassment, or maybe regret.

General Hammond nods, his eyes crinkling. "So, how are you, Sam?"

"As you can see, I'm well." She flexes her hands. "Got the use of all four limbs…" Beside Daniel, Jack flinches.

Hammond squares his shoulders slightly, preparing himself.  "And...Cairin... We haven't yet been introduced."

Sam's head drops, then she looks up and around the table, eyes appraising. In the symphonic voice of a symbiote, she replies, "Indeed not, General Hammond, and you have my apologies, for here you are at a disadvantage. As are you -" her gaze takes in Daniel and Jack opposite her "- for I am very well acquainted with you. Sam thinks very highly of you all."

"As we do of her."

As much as Daniel was expecting it, as many times as he has had to remind himself just who Sam now is, hearing a Tok'ra speak through his friend is unnerving. His memory supplies him with the image of Sam standing behind bars in the brig, Jolinar's voice taunting him, before he pushes it valiantly away. He is impressed at Hammond's easy demeanour and thinks that the man must be more of a politician than he gives himself credit for. He has known Sam since childhood and this new life development must be at least as unsettling for Hammond as for Daniel. As for Jack... Well, Jack is doing his best impression of a lump of rock, so Daniel knows without a doubt that he's experiencing - fighting, suppressing - strong emotions.

Then Sam speaks again.

"Will it be alright if we pop in on Dr Lee and Sergeant Siler? I realise I don't have the right security clearance anymore...."

"I'm sure that will be fine. And I'll have some quarters prepared for you while we wait for the response from the Pentagon and Area 51."

"Thank you, sir. Sorry, George. Here's a list of the items I'm interested in."

"Just as long as we get it all back again, hey?"

It has taken Jack a lot longer to snap than Daniel was expecting, but it still surprises him that, even for the sake of riling a Tok'ra, he would risk hurting Sam. Which he has, if the slight slump of her shoulders is any indication. But her head snaps up and Cairin answers.

"We are not thieves, _Jack_. But if you play nicely, we might just share what we learn rather than keeping it to ourselves. Or you can take all that technology that no-one here can work and shove it up -"

General Hammond coughs quickly.

It seems that Cairin has been introduced to Sam's vocabulary.

Jack is staring across the table at Sam, but Daniel has to wonder who it is he is seeing. He resists the urge to wave his hand in front of Jack's face as the moment for his retort passes. Far too late, he mutters, "Yes, well..."

That doesn't even approach a decent comeback but Cairin seems to have dismissed him already. Sam speaks once again, her pink cheeks the only sign she has registered Cairin's outburst.

"Dad and Selmak send their regards. They are off at the moment or they'd have come with us, but he said they'd try to visit soon."

"How are they?" 

"Oh, you know, same as usual." Sam smiles. "They seem to enjoy having me around." 

Daniel interrupts, "I'd have thought you'd have been assigned a mission yourself, actually. I thought maybe that's why you stayed away so long."

"Ah, yeah..." Sam's eyes flick to Jack uncomfortably before returning to Daniel. "We were sent, actually, but... let's just say that trying to go undercover doesn't really work when you're Major Carter of SG-1." She smiles sheepishly. "It seems we've got ourselves noticed over the years."

At her words, Jack's body goes rigid and his eyes fix on Sam's face like lasers on a target, his protective instinct blazing to life. Daniel is sure that Jack has picked up every single nuance of her last sentences and has heard every single word that she's carefully _not_ saying. He is also sure that she knows exactly what effect her words have had on Jack, as she moves swiftly on, "So we've been getting to grips with the technology Cairin's collected, visiting some of the people she's worked with recently.  And I've been making plans for continuing some of my research. That's why I'd like to borrow the stuff on that list."

Hammond places his hands flat on the table and prepares to rise. "So I will make those calls for you, Sam." Sam stands as he does. "Perhaps you'll join me again sometime this afternoon and you can tell me more."

"I'd like that, sir. George," she corrects.

As Hammond heads back to his office, Daniel checks his watch. 1300. Perfect. 

"So, Sam, wanna go grab some lunch?" 

"Sure."

"Great." Daniel turns expectantly to Jack, who is hovering stupidly. All his usual cock-sure certainty has leached out of him.

"Well, you guys have fun. I've, ah, got some...things...to do. You know, important... things." He waves his hands around aimlessly. Then he seems to notice what he is doing and stuffs them into his pockets, clearing his throat. He avoids Sam's eyes, as if he knows what dismay he'll see there. She gazes at Jack for a few seconds, biting her lip, but then takes a steadying breath and turns to Daniel. 

"Coming?" 

Daniel turns his back on Jack, who stands rooted to the spot, watching them leave, despite those important things that require his urgent attention. He thinks that for someone who says he cares for Sam, Jack has so far done a piss-poor job of showing it.

 


	15. Testing my strength

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter beta'd by the very generous NellieOleson.

 

"OK, Sly, bring up the graphs of power usage again." Sam is leaning over Siler's shoulder, analyzing the most recent gate diagnostics. She understands the gate even better now, thanks to recent discussions with Amtet, and she has been trying to pass on as much as she can before she heads back. Siler, now wholly in charge of gate maintenance, has been sending her regular progress reports, but the look of relief and welcome on his face when she knocked on his door was worth every sidelong look leveled at her by the rest of the base personnel.

"Here, and here." She points to the screen. "These are the warning signs. I can write a program that will alert you when the frequency shifts outside expected parameters, if you like? Send it in my next data burst?"

"That'll be fantastic. Thanks, Sam." He pushes his glasses up onto his head and rubs his face before grinning up at her. She smiles in response.

Then a familiar sensation washes over her and she straightens.

"Hey, Teal'c." She doesn't need to look around to know he has just stepped into the doorway.

In every way, the legacy Jolinar left her was both a blessing and a curse. This particular facet —the naquadah in her blood—took a lot of getting used to, but in the end she drew reassurance from it. The faint tingle in her veins when Teal'c was near became a source of comfort.

With Jaffa the call of the naquadah is diffuse: a fizzing, vibrating sensation along her veins, easy to ignore, especially in a combat situation when adrenaline is pumping. With another mature symbiote the feeling is more intense, like the symbiote in another person is a magnet drawing her blood towards them.

With her dad, she felt the blessing. When he blended with Selmak it was like they became connected at an elemental level as well as by DNA. They shared even more than family ties and secrets.

With any other goa'uld, she felt it to be a curse. Her blood hummed along in tune with theirs. They were her enemy, yet they felt like family.

Now, meeting Teal'c for the first time since her true blending, she herself still feels reassurance. Cairin’s consciousness, however, is restless, and Sam struggles to maintain the barrier between their thoughts. Teal'c's familiar presence recalls in the Tok'ra's mind the proximity of other Jaffa, in many guises, over many, many years. These feelings are bleeding into Sam's mind, staining her own memories, so that Teal'c feels at once like her brother, her slave and her captor.

This is why the Tok'ra-Jaffa alliance floundered from the start: old grievances are hard to forget. From the look in Teal'c's eyes, Sam thinks that he is struggling as well.

She excuses herself from Siler and lays a gentle hand on Teal'c's arm to lead him away. They walk to his quarters in a little bubble of silence. Somewhere along the route he must realise where they're going and why. He doesn't hesitate to invite her in when they reach his door.

Teal'c stands, stiff and uncertain, but Sam simply sits cross-legged on the floor. She looks up at her friend.

"Teal'c, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

Then she shoves Cairin to the fore. 'If you have a problem with Jaffa, deal with it now.'

'You know, I preferred dealing with _your_ psychological problems…'

'I'm sure you did. Now, deal.'

Cairin gives Teal'c an open—if a little forced—smile for a peace offering.

"Teal'c, please don't make me ask you to sit down, here in your own quarters."

He bows his head solemnly, then folds himself down into the space in front of her.

"I must give you my thanks for restoring Samantha Carter to health," he says generously.

"As I have told Sam repeatedly, it is my pleasure to have been able to help."

Teal'c nods. He hesitates a little before continuing, "I found her helplessness most distressing. A warrior such as she should not have to endure such a fate."

"And because of me, she does not." Cairin watches him closely. "But though you care for her, I make you uncomfortable."

He bows his head again in acknowledgement, but is quick in his retort, "As I do you."

Cairin nods. "This is difficult for Sam. She sees in you a brother. Through her eyes I can see years of you fighting alongside her, comforting her, standing between her and anyone who would willingly hurt her. Unfortunately, for every year that she has known and trusted you, I have lived a century ordering Jaffa to carry out unspeakable acts, suffering at their hands and watching them die by mine. And Sam is deeply affected by my conflict with myself where Jaffa are concerned."

She pauses, wondering if she needs to explain further, but decides against it. There is no need to elaborate. Teal'c's experiences ensure that he will understand.

"But, when this war is over," Cairin chooses her words carefully, "the Tok'ra will work and live side by side with Free Jaffa. I want to end my conflict now, for Sam's sake."

Cairin and Sam wait for Teal'c's reply. They wait so long that Sam wonders if he has slipped into kel'no'reem with his eyes open.

"I believed," he says finally, shattering the stillness in the room, "that I fought alongside the Tok'ra as if they were my brothers. I told myself that I did not hate them."

His eyes seek out Cairin's in the half-light. "But even though I love Samantha Carter, when I saw you I felt hatred."

Hatred is a strong word but Sam and Cairin both know Teal'c means exactly what he says. They wait apprehensively for his next statement.

"As a Jaffa I have done terrible things because a goa'uld ordered me to do so. The Tok'ra may say they fight the goa'uld, but many of you have given those same orders when you have posed as goa'uld. Therefore you bear the blame for those atrocities, just as they do."

In a lower voice, he adds, "Just as I do."

"You are right, Teal'c. And I can give you only apologies, which are but worthless air when they cannot restore the blood which has been spilled."

Teal'c tips his head as he listens, but he does not answer immediately.

Finally, he says, "It is true that words cannot restore the lives which have been lost, but it is with words that we will begin to build a new galaxy in which the lives of Jaffa and Tok'ra and Tau’ri are free from fear and oppression. Your words are wise, Cairin. For Samantha Carter's sake we will prove that Jaffa and Tok'ra stand together in this war."

He stands as he finishes his statement and Cairin is left looking up at this mountain of a man, against whom his enemies have thrown themselves with as much futility as blades of grass in the wind. She stands too and he holds out his hand. She grips his rock-solid forearm, relishing the tight hold he takes of hers. They stare into each other's faces for all the world like they are lovers, although it is not passion flowing between them: it is the determination of brothers-in-arms to fight side-by-side to the death.

The moment that his fingers loosen their hold, Cairin hands control back to Sam with a wordless thanks for forcing her to face her demons. Sam eyes her friend slyly.

"Teal'c, you big softie," is all she can say before he gathers her to himself in a bear hug.

"I am very glad to see you again, Samantha Carter."

"I’ve missed you, too."

He bows, a pleased expression lifting the corners of his mouth. Just then, a thought occurs to Sam.

"Teal'c, I have a favour to ask."

"I am at your service."

"Would you mind sparring with me?"

From the way his eyebrow lifts, that was not what he was expecting her to ask. She resists the urge to ask what he did expect. Instead, she tells him what happened on Moloc's planet, the whole sorry mess.

He listens attentively and when her she has finished, asks, "Do you believe that you would have fared better if you were more prepared for hand-to-hand combat?"

"No, it's not that exactly. We did as well as we could given the circumstances. It's just that right now, it's either one or the other between us. We—I—want to know if we can increase our communication in a combat situation so that whoever is in control can access both of our skills."

"That would indeed be an advantage." There's a hint of jealousy in Teal'c's voice.

"So you'll help?"

"I would be honoured."

"Great. I'll see if I can find some clothes. Meet you in the gym in twenty?"

He bows his assent.

 

************

 

He doesn't have to wait long for Samantha Carter before she arrives, tightening the drawstring on her sweatpants.

"This feels weird. I'm wearing Daniel's gym stuff." She sniffs at the loose t-shirt. "At least it's clean."

"You appear to be adequately attired," he replies, and she grimaces. He thinks that even dressed in baggy men's clothes she still puts most other Tau’ri women to shame.

"Do the Tok'ra have facilities in which you may exercise?"

She scoffs. "Most Tok'ra would think it was a waste of time. Symbiotes keep you physically fit—what else would you need?" The sarcasm is not lost on him. He wonders if Cairin is in agreement with Samantha Carter on this point, and is about to ask, when he notices her chin drop.

Cairin says, in answer to his unspoken question, "I have only rarely found a Tok'ra willing to train with me, and there are obvious obstacles to training with an unblended human."

"You fear you may injure them."

She smiles. "Precisely. Which is why we are most grateful to you for this opportunity."

They start out tentatively. Cairin is in control, which makes sense: the symbiote is able to access the host's mind more efficiently than the other way around. Teal'c notices how Cairin takes a defensive position, although she's good at hand-to-hand combat—better even than he remembers Samantha Carter being.

He is easy on them at first, not wanting to press his advantage as they test their abilities. But still at the end of every round Cairin is thrown to the floor.

After twenty inglorious minutes, she loses her composure. She jumps to her feet once again, and he has to suppress his flinch as her eyes flash gold in anger. She faces him, jaw set. It is such a familiar expression to him that he could believe this was just another weekly training session with Major Carter, a ritual they had maintained for six years.

He could believe it, but for the golden light in her eyes.

He lunges forward, but before he can lay his hands on her, Cairin neatly sidesteps. She grabs his arm and, using his forward momentum against him, flips him. He hits the mat. Hard.

Her face is smug as she reaches out a hand to help him to his feet. He blames nostalgia for his momentary lapse.

After that, all bets are off. His honour is at stake. He scales up his attack and it works. The round ends with him kneeling over her, a hand pressed to her throat. However, six long, exhausting minutes later, Teal'c is face down, with Cairin's foot in the centre of his back.

And so it goes. Teal'c is absolutely impressed now by Cairin's strength and agility, and by their combined skill.  There is no doubt that Cairin has started to tap into Samantha Carter's mind as she fights—he recognises moves that he taught her back when they began training together.

He is just about to suggest that they cease this activity when he glimpses Colonel O'Neill in the doorway, his eyes fixed on Samantha Carter's form as she twists and kicks, blocking every thrust of Teal'c's. O'Neill is staring as if this is the first and last time he will ever get to commit her image to memory. He doesn't seem to notice Teal'c at all; he doesn't flinch as Teal'c, distracted, feels his legs swept from under him.

Cairin blows out a breath.

"I fear if we continue this much longer, we will both fall down from sheer exhaustion." She is exaggerating, of course. They both know that they can keep going for much longer. But Teal'c is glad of the excuse to stop. He is actually a little afraid that she will soon be unquestionably better than him and does not wish to experience it.

He stands, his gaze flicking to the doorway again, but O'Neill has vanished.

"You appear to have benefitted from the training session." He hates that he is even a little winded.

"We have, and we are much obliged to you. Perhaps you will join me for some refreshment?"

He bows his head; it is how he usually acquiesces, after all. He is definitely not sparing his breath.

He hears Samantha Carter's soft chuckle. "Well, maybe after I've showered and changed." She gestures to her sweat-drenched shirt. "And after I've apologized to Daniel. He's going to need to wash these again."

 

************

 

Jack sighs with relief as he nears his office. Except for that glimpse of her earlier, in the gym, he has avoided meeting Carter since the meeting with Hammond. He thinks, now that her training session with Teal'c is over, she’s gone back to the labs and will be knee deep in geeks.

Guilt tightens his gut. He shouldn't want to avoid Carter. He doesn't, not really. Just like it used to, every glimpse of her elicits a burst of joy, like his whole body is grinning. He had forgotten what it felt like after all these months apart. But then he remembers what she is now, and the soaring feeling in his chest crashes to the ground.

So he thinks that fate is being cruel when he enters the erstwhile sanctuary of his office only to be confronted with the object of his musings.

"Carter," he says cautiously.

"Jack." His name comes out tentatively, like she's testing the feel of it on her tongue.

"Did you need something?"

His voice is far sharper than it needs to be. He knows he shouldn't be like this with her. He knows that as a teammate at the very least she deserves better, not to mention...other reasons. Even if they never discussed those other reasons. He knows that they got dealt a shitty hand and that it wasn't her fault. But he can't stop the bitterness from tainting his remarks.  

"What she needs, Jack, is for you to get your head out if your ass." Cairin answers.

Jack stops in his tracks, feeling a little like Teal'c must have felt as he got thrown to the mat. "Excuse me?"  

"We came in here to say hello in private since you seem reluctant to speak to us in public. But this is not the reception I would have expected from a person whom Sam... whom she holds in such high regard. It is not her fault that she is no longer a part of Stargate Command, so stop acting like it is. Or it is me that you are angry with for stealing her away from you? You have made it very clear that you dislike the Tok'ra, but could you at least spare a little civility for her?"

"Hey! That's not fair." Except he thinks that it really is a pretty fair assessment, as much of an asshole as that makes him.  

"God, sir, I'm so sorry. That was way out of line." Carter sounds breathless, like she had to wrest control back forcibly. He notices how the ubiquitous 'sir' has replaced 'Jack', for the time being, at least. Apparently, the habit is hard to break. "Cairin and I will be having words. But I guess it's obviously a bad time. I'll speak to you later." She bolts for the door but he flings out a hand to stop her.  

"No, wait, Carter. I've been acting like a jerk. I'm sorry. It's not your fault and I'm not angry at you. Really. It's just..."

"Just that this-" She waves her hands in circles, encompassing everything and nothing, "-wasn't exactly where we thought things were heading."

"No." _Not in a million goddamn years_.  

"But I..." She looks at the door, considering her escape, then at the floor, obviously deciding to see this situation through. "I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"  

"For..." She shrugs and frowns, as if it should be obvious. "For being you. For wanting to look after me, regardless of..." She finally looks up at him and his heart clenches at the sadness in them. He hates to see that expression on her face. He hates that he probably put it there.

"Carter." He rubs his jaw, trying to work out whether he should say more. Oh, what the hell. She's not under his command anymore. "I would do anything for you. You know that."

"I know." Her voice is soft; it does nothing to drown out the sound of heartbreak. "Which is why I'm also sorry."

"Huh?"  

"Because I made this choice. I chose to do something you despise just to save myself. But I had hoped..." She stops quickly and bites her lip. Then she speaks again, but now she's so quiet that he has to move closer to pick out her words. "I wonder if you would hate me less if I had chosen to stay here, even with the paralysis."

"Carter, no! I don't hate you—"  His voice stumbles and he stops, but he doesn't know if it’s the truth that has just tripped him, or the lie.

"But you do, a little bit. You hate what I've become."

Now he can see the lie right in his path, he can't deny it, and the moment for the denial that never comes stretches on and on, the distance between them widening with each second. Finally he decides he has to acknowledge it. She already knows the truth anyway.  

"Yeah," he breathes. "And I hate myself for that. I know you didn't have a choice. I do. I want you safe and—and whole, but I also want you to be _you_. And preferably here. I'm sorry."

She reaches out hesitantly so her fingers just brush his arm. The touch barely makes it through the fabric of his jacket. "You told me it wasn't my fault, but it wasn’t yours either. We just have to make the best of a screwed-up situation."

He stares at her hand, pale skin glowing against the dull green, to keep from having to confront the look he knows is in her eyes. That pleading look. It's the look with the power to break him. "Yeah. I'll do better at that. I just need...a bit more time."

"I know. So I'm going to go. It's going to take till at least tomorrow for the stuff I want to get here from Area 51. Maybe I'll see you again before I go back?" There's a little hopeful lift at the end of that sentence. She wants to see him.

"Yeah. I think I'd like that."

"Me too." She takes a step towards the door, retreating with honour intact.

"Carter?" He wants her to stay even though he desperately needs her to leave; the paradox makes him dizzy.

She turns back. "Yes, Jack?"  

He risks a tiny smile. At least, he feels his face soften. Slightly. "For what it's worth, I think I'll like Cairin. It's not often I get my ass handed to me. She's got some..."

"Balls?"  

"Yeah, that. For a snake." And _that_ was a mental image he did not need, but it made Sam smile. Maybe he really can be less of a jerk.  

"She does, sir. And I really hope you'll like her." Her smile turns a little wistful, and he tries not to imagine what would put that look on her face. He doesn't think he can cope with it right now. "See you around."

She closes the door softly behind her and Jack sinks into a chair, his face in his hands. He doesn't have a snake in his head but he hears a little voice in the back of his mind just the same: _You really can be a selfish sonofabitch, Jack O'Neill._

He wholeheartedly agrees.  

 


	16. A smile on my lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there has been a bit of a delay in getting this to you; life conspired to rob me of my evenings for a couple of weeks!
> 
> Beta'd by NellieOleson. Thank you, Nellie.

George does everything he can to move things along quickly, but with hindsight, Sam realises that borrowing any technology was never going to be straightforward. She－and Cairin－have to answer question after question, sign endless forms and then wait interminably until Cairin is ready to scream in frustration.

'This－this!－is why the Tau’ri are still so primitive. If they spent less time completing paperwork there would be more time for real discovery!'

Sam can only agree. The endless paperwork was an irritation when she was still part of the system. Now, because of the inescapable fact that she is technically an alien and no longer subject to the Air Force, the whole new layer of bureaucracy makes her want to throw something at the wall.

The upside to the delay is that she has more time to spend with the people she cares about. She loiters in the infirmary catching up with Janet while trying to stay out of the way, but in the busy space she’s about as unobtrusive as Teal'c would be in a group of the Nox. At the end of her shift Janet invites Sam and the rest of SG-1 over for dinner, which means Sam doesn’t have to choose with which of her friends she'll spend her evening. She is grateful for Janet’s thoughtfulness; already the clock seems to be ticking too fast towards the end of her visit, even though she and Cairin originally cursed the delay.

Sam is excited to see Cassie again. She knows how full teenagers’ lives are and how much she will have missed out on, even with all the messages Cassie has sent. But she is conscious that while she is hearing all about who got mad at whom over the group History project, Cairin has gone very quiet.

‘Are you OK?’ Sam asks her.

‘I am fine,’ Cairin replies quickly.

Sam is not convinced. She sends the Tok’ra a wave of scepticism.

‘Very well,’ Cairin grumbles. ‘It is just that I have never had much opportunity to interact with children.’

Sam smiles to herself. After all the things that Cairin has seen and done, it turns out that children make her nervous.

‘If it makes you feel any better, I’m not always great around children. But Cassie is...Cassie. Just relax. Don’t think of her as a child. Hell, she’s almost a woman. But she’s a friend.’

‘I will try.’

As the afternoon darkens into evening, the barrage of high school news slows, but then Daniel and Teal’c join them and the tide of gossip flows again. Nobody mentions that Jack is absent. At least, nobody mentions it after the first moment that Daniel arrives at the house. He looks around, counting the number of places set at the table. "Is Jack joining us later?" he asks, as Janet walks into the room with glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

Janet fixes Daniel with a death glare that Sam knows she wasn't meant to notice. He widens his eyes innocently, and their conversation continues for a few seconds in the silent language of eyebrow raises and shoulder shrugs. Sam hasn't lost the ability to translate its nuances in her time with the Tok'ra. All she had told Janet was that the colonel was having some trouble adjusting, and that she was giving him some space. Janet inferred the rest and passes it all on to Daniel in their silent exchange.

It feels like old times as they sit and catch up long after Cassie has taken herself to her room and her homework. The four friends talk quietly, and Cairin interjects comments to Sam which, more often than not, have Sam snorting into her drink. After the third time this happens, Janet gives in to her curiosity.

"OK, Sam, spill. What are you two laughing about?"

There's no annoyance in Janet's voice, just exasperation that they're all missing out on the joke. It is the first time that anyone has included Cairin in the conversation, and Sam feels a warm flush of pleasure－whether it is from herself or her symbiote, she isn't sure.

"Ah, Cairin was just reminding me of a dish we ate on the last planet we visited. It's a delicacy, apparently. It was the lungs of an animal a bit like a goat, marinated in its own blood and poached in some kind of tea. Then served with something a bit like couscous."

Janet looks nauseated. "And this made you laugh?"

"Well, no, not that exactly. It was totally disgusting. But Cairin told me it is the only thing she's ever eaten that is  _ more _ disgusting than the chicken curry we were served on base yesterday."

The laughter that erupts around her is a little shocking. It is loud and unrestrained and it sounds like friendship. After months of frigid loneliness, Sam wants to wrap herself in it.

"So, Cairin, how many planets do you and Sam visit on a regular basis?" Daniel asks. It's the first question to be directed to Cairin since the meeting with General Hammond, and a little jolt of surprise courses through the Tok'ra. Sam cedes control willingly, glad beyond words that her symbiote is finally being included.

Cairin answers but Daniel has more questions. He always has more questions. Janet steps in after a few minutes, chastising Daniel for hogging the conversation. For the rest of the evening, Sam and Cairin swap continually from primary to secondary, neither wanting to be each other's mouthpiece here, each wanting to share in the congenial company.

It makes Sam dizzy, but it's the most relaxed she has been since the blending.

 

************

 

Cairin stands at the refrigerator in the commissary, peering at the desserts. When one has been alive and in a state of war as long as she has, one develops a sense for what is essential in life. She's not sure that blue jello counts as essential. Sam vehemently disagrees. So Cairin adds it to her tray.

She sits alone, seemingly oblivious to the sidelong glances and whispered comments of those around her, mind busy, her eyes on her food－the pasta Sam suggested thankfully less disgusting than the curry.

She finishes off the dessert just as Jack enters the room. His focus is on food and coffee; he hasn't noticed Cairin. But as he grabs a mug, he turns, his eyes scanning for a seat, and he sees her. Out of the corner of her eye she watches him pause by the dessert counter before coming towards her. His steps are slow and deliberate, like he's having to pull against a force tugging him in the opposite direction. 

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all, Jack."

The metallic ring to her voice alerts him; there is a hitch in his movements, as if he is re-evaluating his decision to join her. But he sits down anyway.

"Cairin. I expected Sam."

"Understandable. But I was growing tired of feeling tense and ready to...chew someone out－is that the expression?－so I told her to take a break."

The corners of Jack's eyes crease in genuine amusement. "I guess she has to listen to you when you tell her that." He gestures towards her with the fork. "You're much better with our idioms than Teal'c."

"I like learning new things. And some of your Earth phrases are most interesting."

Jack plays absentmindedly with his food. "Now you sound like Daniel."

They are both silent for some minutes, neither sure what to say. Sam is likewise uncomfortable but she can't think of anything to say either. Finally, Jack breaks the awkward moment.

"Have your things arrived from Area 51?"

"Not yet. We expect them in the next few hours. Then we will get out of your hair."

The phrase makes him smile briefly. Cairin decides that she likes his smile.

She continues, "It will be best for us to go, I think. We would not want to overstay our welcome."

She feels Jack’s eyes on her, as if he is searching for hidden judgement or criticism. But she has deliberately kept her tone bland, making no accusations. She thinks that they have been very well received, on the whole. There has been no real unpleasantness, which is undoubtedly a testament to Sam's standing at the SGC. It is very clear that people here are in awe of her, to the point of being a little afraid. Her status now only adds to that fear and respect.

But still, it is hard for Sam to not assume the worst, to not think that every merely curious look is thinly-veiled hostility.

Jack takes a long while to answer, as if he is trying out and rejecting many responses in his head. In the end, all he says is, "Give my regards to Jacob and Selmak."

She notices that he didn't say,  _ Don't go, It was good to see you, Come again soon _ . She notices the flare of hurt it elicits in Sam. But she ignores it for now. After all, Cairin and Jack are having this conversation, not Sam and Jack, and there are things Cairin still wants to say.

"We shall indeed do so." She gives him a sly look, her lips turning up in a small smirk. "Perhaps you would also like us to pass on your best wishes to Anise and Freya?"

He looks up at her sharply from under lowered brows. "Ah, yes. Anise and Freya."

She smiles. His discomfort is as clear as the curses Sam is levelling at her for broaching this subject, but she pays no mind to either. "I gather that SG-1 has, shall we say, less than fond memories of them?"

"You could say that." Jack clears his throat. "Did she tell you why?"

"Something about a mission that went wrong... She was not specific." But Cairin will find out eventually. "Sam does not like them, which I think is understandable. I am...ambivalent...towards them, myself."

At this, Jack smiles again. "Ambivalent, eh?"

Cairin definitely likes his smile, likes that it is a language all by itself. Most of all, she likes that she, a despised Tok'ra, can provoke that smile.

"Well, Anise I have a little time for, but I dislike Freya," she explains. "Sam did confide that Freya had made a...proposition...to a member of her team. She did not say who it was, and I admit I was not sure if it was you, but you  _ are _ Freya's type."

Disgust crosses Jack's features, but like a gentleman, he smothers it immediately. Feigning nonchalance, he asks, "She has a type?"

"She does indeed. Although I  _ think _ you may be the first man to have ever turned her down."

"Yes, well... Let's not go there."

Now for the important question. "Is it because she is blended?"

"She asked me the same thing."

"And?"

"Partly." Jack glances sideways, uncomfortable. "Look, can we talk about something else?"

Damn the man's blatant deflection. There is no way now to ask without being rude, and she needs－for Sam's sake－to keep relations with Jack amicable at least.

"I'm sorry if I have made you uncomfortable. If it is any consolation, Sam has been yelling at me ever since I mentioned Freya."

There is that smile again, cautious though it may be. "You don't say." He tilts his head, the aura of a shy little boy settling round him; an aura at odds with the commander she knows him to be. "Can I talk to her?"

"Of course." She withdraws herself and Sam comes surging desperately forward.

"Sir. Jack."

"Hey, Carter."

"I'm so sorry."

"No problem." Except it is a problem. The mention of Anise and Freya has stirred up all sorts of memories which they both would rather leave undisturbed.

"I did try to get her to shut up."

"So it's like getting Daniel to shut up then."

"You have no idea," she sighs, exasperated. And all at once, instead of staring at each other from either side of a zatarc detector, hearing confessions torn unwillingly from each other's hearts, they're smiling at each other across the campfire on a quiet mission, sharing a joke at their teammate's expense.

"So, you talk about us?"

"How could I not?" She is genuinely confused. Did he really think that the moment she left they ceased to mean anything to her?

"Just...don't give any of our secrets away, ok?" His words are so loaded they need a C-17 to carry the subtext, but it is baggage that she knows intimately.

"I'll try, sir."

She wants to prolong this exchange, to draw out the time she has with him, but he's about to stage a retreat. His eyes are darting around the room, assessing escape routes. His weight is constantly shifting, his body preparing for flight. She's seen it before, in countless alien prisons. She has also seen it here, in the SGC, every time they drew too close to crossing the forbidden line. It’s a parallel she has tried－and failed－not to be saddened by.

Just as she predicts－God, she knows him so well－he stands abruptly and gathers the remains of his lunch onto his tray.

Their eyes fall as one on the dish of blue jello that lurks innocently, untouched, in one corner of his tray. She looks up again from under her lashes, and the little-boy look is back, this time sheepish, like he's been caught out in some mischief.

He gently sets the bowl in front of her. She reaches out and runs a finger down the glass, feeling the cold drops collect under her skin, watching them race her touch to the table.

"You remembered."

"Some things never change, Carter."

She continues to look up at him, unsure where this conversation is going to go next but unwilling to end it, bizarre as it has been. The colonel doesn't walk away immediately but neither does he speak. Instead he holds her gaze for a few long moments, then knocks gently on the table and heads out of the door.

As Sam swallows the first sweet spoonful of jello, again alone at her table, she hopes that  _ something _ will change. She just isn't entirely sure what.

 

*************

 

Her visit has been longer than she intended, but when the time for departure eventually comes, she finds she is ready to leave. She worries that if she stays she will risk upsetting the precarious balance she has created within herself since the talk with her dad. She doesn't exactly  _ want _ to go, but it won't be as difficult as she feared to walk back through the gate. 

At least now she knows without a doubt that she can rely on her friends. Sam thinks Teal'c has come around, even if Cairin did risk mortally offending him by kicking his Jaffa ass. The others behaved just as she had hoped they would.

Except for Jack.

Sam admits to herself that although he was less welcoming than she had hoped, he was less hostile than she had feared he would be. Their exchange in the commissary, notwithstanding the awkward comments from Cairin, has at least led her to believe that they might have a friendlier future.

She makes her way to the gate room, talking with Daniel. Just as she had promised Cairin, she holds a small pot in her hand. It's a Thanksgiving cactus. Cairin likes the name of its genus: Schlumbergera. Sam likes that it's meant to be quite hardy; hopefully she won't kill it with neglect. Teal'c and the colonel are waiting for her, along with the case containing the technology she requested. She rests the plant on top.

Daniel puts a hand on her arm as they come to a halt. “It's been really good to see you.”

“You too, Daniel.” She reaches for him and he pulls her into a hug, just as he had when she arrived.

"See you soon, Sam," he whispers into her ear.

Releasing Daniel, Sam looks up at Teal'c.

"Give our regards to Ryac and Bra'tac when you see them next."

Teal'c nods gravely and, just as seriously, embraces her. As she pulls away, she catches his eye.

"You big softie," she smiles cheekily.

Then she turns to Jack. This is uncharted territory for both of them. They don't hug on base. They don't touch unless they absolutely have to. But she's just hugged the others; it's his turn now. As she watches him struggle to find a graceful way to refuse without seeming churlish, she decides to make it easier for him. She holds out her hand.

"Take care of yourself, Jack."

He reaches out hesitantly, but then takes her hand in his. His fingers are warm, his grip strong.

"I think that's supposed to be my line, Carter."

He tugs gently, pulling her closer. He doesn't release her hand, just traps it between their bodies as his other arm wraps around her. It is the same type of embrace he would give Teal'c or Bra'tac. She shouldn't be surprised by it, given everything he's said and done the last few days, but still, the comparison hurts.

But then she feels him press his cheek into her hair, and she risks a little intimacy. She splays her fingers against his back and drops her cheek to his shoulder, tightening her hold on him for a second or two. She breathes in the scent of him, lets it fill her lungs, like somehow she can carry him away with her along with the air that holds his essence. He does nothing to reciprocate, only leaves his cheek against her hair while she embraces him. She thinks she feels him exhale a tiny sigh. When she steps back, his face is unreadable.

Sam looks away. She's told him she doesn't blame him, and she doesn't. If anything, she blames herself for wanting more than he's ready to give her. Picking up her plant, she starts to reach for the large case, but as if trying to make up for the last few minutes, the colonel displays unusual gallantry and reaches for the handle himself. He strains against the load but doesn't even lift it from the floor.

"Geez, Carter, what've you got in this thing? Refined naquadah?"

She ducks her head and gives Jack a slightly shame-faced look as she picks it up easily. He rubs the back of his neck, his features softening into a self-deprecating smirk. "I'm trying not to feel emasculated here, Carter."

"Yeah, how's that working for you, Jack?" Daniel asks innocently.

"Actually, not so well." He flicks a finger towards Sam. "Remind me to never spar with you, Carter."

Teal'c doesn't try to hide his amusement. "That would indeed be unwise, O'Neill."

Sam flashes a grin at him, responding to his banter with some gentle ribbing of her own. "Nah, Teal'c, he'd do just fine. I'll tell Cairin to go easy on him." Looking up at the control room window, she nods to Walter to dial the Tok'ra homeworld, then turns back to her guys. "See you soon. I'll be back to return all this before you know it." 

The gate starts spinning, ready to take her home.

_ Home. Home is here. _

Except that it isn't, at least for now, and it's time to go. She draws a deep, fortifying breath. The three men of her team－former team, she reminds herself－have drawn together at the foot of the ramp, facing her. She remembers how it felt to stand alongside them, her shoulders brushing theirs, waiting for the explosion of the vortex from the connecting wormhole. Now she stands in her own clear space－not alone, but not with them.

Not trusting herself to say goodbye, she gives them all a last, tight smile. Daniel returns it with an easy one of his own; Teal'c bows. Jack's face is blank and though she tries to catch his eye, his gaze keeps sliding away. Sam wishes he would smile too, but she can't afford to wait for something she's not sure will come. The longer she stands here, the harder it is to walk away.

She turns to look at the stargate, adjusting her grip on the plant pot, her little piece of Earth.

'Cairin?'

'I am here.'

'Help me?'

'No, Sam. But I am here, holding your hand. Figuratively speaking, of course'

'Thanks, Cairin. Let's go, then.'

Sam squares her shoulders and strides through the event horizon, letting it sweep her away.

 


	17. Stretching my legs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pronunciation of Goibniu: Gov-nyuh

Unlike so many of its predecessors, which were left to wither away on a shelf in Sam's lab, the little Thanksgiving cactus thrives. It sits in pride of place in Cairin and Sam's chamber, and Sam makes a little ritual of tending to it when they awaken and before they sleep

The unassuming cactus, as yet just a spray of dark green fronds emerging from the soil, has taken on a significance in Sam's mind far greater than its fragile form deserves to bear. She knows it's stupid, but it has become her own personal superstition that as long as the plant survives, everything is going to turn out OK. Despite being millions of light years from Earth. Despite Jack and his hatred for the Tok'ra that he can't set aside yet, even for her

Sam isn't going to attempt another visit to Earth for a little while, but she definitely isn't going to waste time pining. Between Cairin's stash of salvaged technology and the devices Sam has borrowed, they have enough alien technology to investigate to keep their hands and minds busy for months to come. 

And even though Sam has deemed Earth off-limits for now, they have plenty of other planets to visit. When Cairin is occupied with debating the benefits of inoculation with tribal leaders or teaching town councils about the best way to codify legislation, Sam wrestles with her own projects. These might be glitches in the Prometheus’ navigation systems or inefficiencies in the hyperdrive engines. She doesn’t feel guilty about not paying attention to what’s going on around her. Cairin’s work is, after all, not Sam’s work. Sam understands that now.

Daniel sends word soon after her visit to Earth that Jack has finally appointed a fourth member of SG-1. Captain Dylan Jones is an engineer who was in line for a munitions posting before he was recruited to the stargate programme. Sam approves of the colonel’s choice. From what Daniel tells her, Jones seems a good fit for SG-1. He and the colonel can bond over their fondness for blowing shit up.

The news that her space on the team has been filled doesn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. At least she can be sure that when her guys get into trouble offworld—and they  _ will  _ get into trouble, she has no doubt—they’ll have another good officer to watch their backs.

So far, Sam and Cairin themselves haven't run into any trouble offworld, either on Cairin’s pet planets or when they've visited her favourite trading worlds for food, soaps, cloth and fuel to restock the Tok’ras’ stores. Sam can’t imagine ever growing tired of the freedom she has as Tok’ra, or the thrill she feels as they set out for some distant world: just herself, Cairin and their combined wits. Unlike on Earth, there is no need to wait for days before their departure can be scheduled. They can decide to go offworld and then simply go. The galaxy is their oyster. Despite all the sacrifices she’s made to be here, this is the one aspect of her new life she wouldn't change. She doesn’t even begrudge the schlep to and from the stargate.

When it comes to the attention of the Tok’ra provisions committee that the scientists require certain minerals in the laboratories, Cairin offers to visit a planet she calls Aithskell. 

‘The goa’uld left Aithskell a long time ago. It is rich is many of the minerals we require, such as—’ she flashes into Sam’s mind the atomic structure of three elements Sam immediately identifies as platinum, rhenium and neodinium, ‘—but there is no naquadah. The goa’uld are so dependent on it now that they abandoned the planet for others rich in the element.’

Cairin is excited about this visit, more so than many of their trips; Aithskell is a place where she has spent a lot of time. As they prepare, she keeps distracting Sam with fragments of memories. Sam wonders why, if Cairin loves it so much, they have not visited before now. But when she voices this thought, she is dismayed to feel sadness quickly replace pleasure in Cairin's mind.

‘I visited Aithskell often with Tia. She loved it there, too,’ Cairin explains. ‘I needed time to adjust to the idea that when I returned, she would no longer accompany me.’

Self-recrimination burns in Sam’s gut. She is quick to apologise but understands completely when Cairin retreats into her own mind for a while after this explanation. Cairin doesn’t take offense, though, and Sam tries to be more careful in her words and thoughts. She remembers how she felt when Daniel ascended and then reminds herself that Cairin’s grief must be magnitudes more potent. When her host died, Cairin didn’t just lose a friend, she lost a part of herself.

 

************

 

They gate to Aithskell early the next day, buzzing with anticipation. Cairin can't be sure what time of day it will be when they arrive, but she is certain of a friendly welcome whatever time of the day or night it is.

It is night. Darkness presses in on them as the light from the wormhole vanishes, and Sam feels Cairin tense, stopping just short of seizing control of Sam’s body in agitation.

Something is wrong. It’s  _ too _ dark.  _ Too _ quiet.

There are usually lamps burning around the gate, and she should just be able to make out the village lights up on the hillside. Now the only illumination comes from a small reddish moon just over the horizon and the slightly brighter crescent of another, larger moon higher in the sky.

Seconds after the wormhole disconnects, there is a muffled  _ boom.  _ Sam braces, waiting for a shell to detonate or a concussive force to flatten her, but nothing happens.

‘What was that?’ she asks Cairin sharply.

Her symbiote is rattled. ‘I have no idea. We should take cover and wait for morning.’

Sam starts for the treeline, but then she has a better idea. ‘Do you think you can remember the way to the village in the dark?’

There is a short pause as Cairin considers this. ‘Yes.’

‘Then let’s head there now. There’s no-one at the gate at the moment, but whatever that was might have alerted someone.’

‘Good idea.’

Mindful of the supplies they'd hoped to bring back, they've brought along storage crates and items for trading. Now, Cairin finds a tree near the gate whose waxy-leaved branches form a dark dome. She pushes the containers inside the tree-cave, camouflaging them as best she can, before striking deeper into the woods.

Despite her familiarity with this planet, in the darkness everything is strange. She navigates cautiously, hoping she won't lose herself in the featureless woods and hoping more fervently that she won't stumble upon any hostile forces that might be waiting. It takes three hours to make the journey, which would normally take an hour. She breathes a sigh of relief when, through the trees, they catch glimpses of rough-hewn stone walls and shingle roofs. They made it undetected. 

Even from a distance, it is evident that the village has been uninhabited for some time. Carts lie on their side in the middle of the street. Doors hang open; pot fragments are strewn across the floors inside. Windows gape; no lights welcome them. The comforting smell of wood smoke has long since faded.

There is no evidence of violence. At least, they see none until Cairin pulls the door of the central meeting hall open. On the inside is a starburst of charred wood, its black centre sucking in the moonlight. It looks suspiciously like—

‘A staff blast,’ Cairin confirms. She curses.

‘So. Jaffa. The question is, are they still here?’

Cairin’s thoughts are whirling but she manages to maintain some logic. ‘Given that shockwave at the gate and the fact that the village is abandoned, I’d say there is still a goa’uld presence here.’

‘Well, hopefully not  _ here _ here. But probably not too far away. We need more information.’

‘Agreed.’

Checking building after deserted building for intel that the silent rooms do not yield, Sam and Cairin soon spot a recently-trodden path leading into the forest.

‘This isn’t a path the villagers used.’ Cairin’s thoughts are heavy with apprehension.

The sound of shifting dirt behind them alerts them only a split second before a sharp point is lodged between Cairin’s shoulder blades. She freezes, hands held out in the universal gesture of peace.

A voice hisses, “What is your business here?”

It’s a feminine voice, low-toned and dusky. A voice that Cairin recognises.

“Claris? It's Cairin.”

“You are not Cairin.” The voice is harsh, suspicious. “How do you know my name? And hers?”

Cairin speaks calmly. Soothingly. “Claris, it is me. But I have a new host.” The point jabs a little harder into Cairin’s spine, encouraging her to keep talking. “The last time I was here I came with my previous host, Tia. We…” She hunts for some memory that would confirm her identity. “We took a walk, and she tripped in a rabbit hole, spraining her ankle. One of the elders helped us back to the village and allowed his hands a little too much...licence.”

There is a short, mirthless laugh from behind them and the weapon is lowered. Cairin turns. The woman in front of them looks dishevelled, exhausted and fierce. She had been expecting a fight, not a friend, and the change in circumstances has rattled her. Sam recognises the brittle self-control, the tension in shoulders and hands, knuckles white on the lethal-looking crossbow. She has felt that way herself, many times. 

Concern fills Cairin. “Claris, what’s happened?”

“Not here. Follow me.” Without another word, Claris turns and disappears into the trees, skirting the edge of the village before heading into denser forest. She moves deftly through the spreading branches, the carpet of leaves muffling her footsteps, the odour of pine resin swirling in her wake.

Claris’ route twists and turns through the trees, disturbing the vegetation as little as possible. Finally she pauses, rapping sharply on a hollow tree, the staccato knock sounding to Sam like a woodpecker. It must be a signal. As the echoes die away, one by one, figures move out of the deeper shadows. Even Sam’s Tok’ra-sharpened eyes can make out nothing but rough shapes, but the little light filtering through the canopy glints from assorted well-polished blades.

“Claris?” comes a male voice off to the right. “Who is with you?”

“Do not fear,” Claris replies. “It is Cairin. With a new host,” she adds quickly, as a low muttering rises from the shadows.

“Cairin?” Another woman this time, ahead but further away.

Claris starts walking again. “I’m taking her to the camp. Keep up the watch.”

“Of course.” The shapes disappear into the night.

The camp is tucked away in a deep hollow, makeshift shelters built into the bank. After the chill under the trees, the air here in the hollow is warm and dry. Claris leads them to log seats around a tiny firepit and pulls a jar out from a hole in the ground. It’s full of cool, sweet water, and Cairin drinks deeply. Claris adds a few twigs to the mound of glowing embers and sits back on her heels, waiting for small flames to burst to life around the new fuel. As she joins Cairin on the log, she takes a sip from a small flask, throwing her head back. Her hair swings away from her face; heavy and dirty as it is, its coppery hue glows in the firelight. But the bones of the face beneath are too stark, the skin stretched too tight over the angles. This is a woman who has been living on the edge for too long. Cairin and Sam can both see it. Sam does not need to ask Cairin if she knows this woman well; Cairin’s concern reaches right down into depths Sam cannot fathom.

Claris offers the flask to Cairin, but the familiarity of the wordless gesture contrasts with the way Claris avoids looking directly at Cairin. Or, perhaps, at Sam.

Cairin hesitates for a second before reaching out for the bottle.

“Gimlet?”

Claris nods, a half-smile playing around her mouth. Cairin breathes in the sharp, fruity smell and then takes a careful sip. Sam yelps inwardly at the burn in her throat and stomach.

‘That's...that’s  _ strong _ .’

‘I know. Be glad I did not drink more.’

‘I am.’

Cairin passes the flask back to Claris, but when her friend’s fingers close around it, Cairin does not immediately let it go. The firelight illuminates the contours of Claris’ thin hand, and Sam notices the black outline of a tattoo curling out from under the fabric at her wrist, a vine thick with leaves and flowers. Cairin holds onto the flask until she forces Claris to look up at her. The pain and weariness clouding her eyes are all too clear, even in the dim light.

"Claris, what has happened here?"

Claris exhales an unsteady breath. "A man came—a—" she stumbles on the word, "—a goa'uld just like those you have told us about. With warriors. Warriors with a mark on their foreheads and weapons like we have never seen."

"Jaffa," Cairin prompts, her voice gentle. 

"They just marched into the village one day and started taking people. And when there was no one left in the village they starting flying over us in ships."

"They took them where?"

"To the old mines. He has made a stronghold in the ruins higher up in the hills."

"Do you know what his name is?"

"Gov— something. Gov...?"

Sam feels something akin to a shiver pass through Cairin, a thrill which is equal parts confusion and foreboding. "Goibniu?" Cairin asks Claris. 

"Yes, that's what they said. Do you know him?"

"I know of him." Memories flash through Sam's mind, but too fast for her to make any sense of them.

"When did he first come?"

Claris thinks for a moment, her eyes on the patch of sky visible through the canopy, her fingers tight around the flask of liquor. 

"There have been four complete Girstas since he arrived."

'Girsta is the larger moon,' Cairin clarifies for Sam. 'Cycle of 42 days.'

Then, to Claris, she asks, "What do they want?"

"They seem to be here for the mine. At least, they have captured men to work it. Women—" She pauses to swallow, "—women they took into the stronghold, but I don't know what they are doing."

The way her voice thins to a whisper betrays her fear that she knows exactly what the women have been taken for.

"What did you do when they came? Did you try fighting back?"

"Yes, at first, but their weapons are too powerful. Some thought we should escape through the stargate—perhaps come to your world—but we could not get near it. As soon as the first of us stepped too close they were knocked senseless by an invisible hand. They did not wake for many hours." She cocks her head at Cairin, her eyes narrowed." How is it that you were not affected by the force?"

Cairin shakes her head and shrugs. "I do not know, Claris. Whatever it was passed through us. Perhaps it is because I am kin to the goa'uld. Perhaps it is designed not to affect us."

Claris nods slowly before resuming her tale. “Then we tried escaping to the mountain villages and the towns farther away but the warriors—Jaffa?—just flew there in their ships. So we have scattered into the forests and the more remote mountain farms.” 

“And the Jaffa are just taking prisoners?” 

"Yes. They take our people, then they put them to work. They have these metal...eggs. They catch anyone they can—and put the little eggs here—" She reaches out a hand and brushes her fingers at the base of Sam's skull. "They latch into the skin and the person collapses. Then all the Jaffa need to do is carry the prisoners away. Men, they take to the mines, women, to the ruins."

Sam has frozen, a chill seeping out from the place that Claris has just touched.

She remembers that feeling, of tiny teeth biting into her skin, the cold that drove into her brain. Terror like she had never known before. She only understood later that her life had been drained from her along with the ability to move. Now, she is aware of Cairin filling her mind with warm sympathy, but still the frost lingers in her thoughts.

Cairin continues questioning Claris. "You have managed to escape?" 

"Escape capture, yes. For now. They only take a few at one time. As many as they can carry. But they come regularly. There are many prisoners now."

"But there must still be many of you free. Have you tried to help the prisoners escape?"

"Yes. We tried almost as soon as they were taken. There are never many guards there, even at night. It seemed easy. We did not know why the prisoners did not just run away. There are no bars, no fences. So we went in and brought them out with us. But when they got so far—maybe five hundred paces?—they just collapsed. We took them back again, but they still could not move. When the soldiers came looking, we couldn't carry them all away. The soldiers took them back and when we got closer, we could see them working again.

"Then we tried going in at night, but as soon as they are fed they are led into the tents and then... Then they are made to lie still. Just like when they went too far away. So we cannot take them away. We even tried to pull one of the...the things...off, but..." Claris breaks off, fighting tears. 

Cairin touches Claris’ shoulder. "It's all right. We know what happens."

Claris brushes her hand fiercely across her eyes. "Since then we have simply watched the mine and the caves, hoping to see a way to fight back."

Cairin is quiet, but inside she is overflowing with more questions. There are no answers to stem their flow. "We need to see this stronghold. Can you take us there?"

"I can," Claris replies immediately. Sam wonders how many times she's been there, how many hours she's spent in surveillance, trying to work out a way to free her people. "Can you wait until first light?"

"Yes." 

They fall silent. Claris takes another swig of the gimlet and glances over at Cairin, but looks away when she meets the Tok'ra's eyes. Sam wonders if it is natural nervousness around the Tok'ra or if there is a specific reason.

‘I think she is unnerved by you, Sam, as my new host,’ Cairin suggests.’ Tia and I knew her well, but she doesn't know you.’ 

‘I see.’ 

Claris must have been brooding over the same idea. She puts down the flask and asks quietly,

"What happened to Tia?" 

Cairin reaches out and squeezes Claris cold hand in her warm one. "She died,” she tells her friend gently. “I am sorry that she did not have the chance to see you again. She was very fond of you." 

"And I of her. And your new host?" 

Cairin nudges Sam to the fore.

"My name is Sam." She squeezes Claris' hand again. "I'm so sorry this has happened to you and your people. But we will do everything we can to help." 

Maybe it isn't her call to make, but Cairin says nothing to contradict her. Sam knows that there is no way either of them would ignore what is happening here.

"What can you do?" Claris’ voice has risen in desperation. 

"I don't know yet. But we know a bit about these devices. They are...actually, they're the reason I'm here." The other woman frowns in confusion, and Sam gives her a small smile. "It's a long story. For now we need as much information as we can get." 

"I know a place where we can see the mines and remain hidden. It will be morning soon. We will go at first light."

The words seem meant to convey decisive energy, but the woman's exhaustion is almost palpable. Sam looks over her shoulder to the nearest shelter.

"Why don't you get some rest? We'll keep watch." 

Reluctance and desire wage a battle across Claris’ features, but it is brief, and her need to sleep is far stronger than her determination to remain vigilant.

"Thank you." Moving to a shelter, she crouches low under its makeshift roof and rolls herself into the blankets there. She falls asleep almost instantly.

Sam turns back to the fire, leaning towards it, trying to absorb what little warmth is thrown by the miniature flames. This feels so familiar. A silent camp and a night watch around a low fire. The sour taste of fear on the back of her tongue, knowing there are enemy Jaffa on the planet, working for an unknown goa'uld with an unknown agenda. Sam half expects to feel Teal'c's hand on her shoulder or hear the crackle of a power bar wrapper as it is stuffed in Daniel's pocket. At the edge of her senses, she smells coffee, sees a shape against the shadows of the woods around her, ball cap pulled low over his eyes, shading them from the fire’s glare, the light gleaming on knuckles and knees and jaw. Then she hears Cairin’s voice and the vision is gone.

‘So. Goibniu is here and he is using Tethers.’ 

‘You know him?’ 

‘I do. Well, as I told Claris, I know  _ of _ him. He is the weaponsmith of the goa'uld, but he disappeared many hundreds of years ago. It is widely believed that he is dead.’ 

‘Well, he doesn't seem to be dead now.’ 

‘No.’

Sam waits for Cairin to say more, but, to her frustration, the Tok'ra offers nothing further. There is so much history, of this war in general and this enemy in particular, of which Sam is ignorant. She has never even heard of this goa'uld; she has no idea what his agenda might be. She picks a query almost at random from the plethora of questions that are crowding her brain. 

‘What's he doing here?’ she asks Cairin. 

Cairin sounds detached, like she is puzzling over a piece of alien technology back in her own safe work chamber. ‘If he is working on his own, perhaps he is attempting to muster his forces. Of course, he may be working for another, more powerful goa'uld, in which case I can only guess what he is doing. Either way, he must have picked this planet for his base of operations.’

‘Do you think he's developing weapons?’ 

‘That is my assumption. Perhaps he is here for the same metal deposits that we came to access.’

‘That noise at the gate: Claris said it knocked out the Aithsken who tried to get too close. It must be some kind of shockwave.’ 

‘It is probably one of his weapons, but designed to be ineffective on a goa'uld—’

‘—and therefore a Tok'ra.’ 

‘Precisely.’

‘What about Jaffa?’ 

Cairin offers Sam the mental equivalent of a shrug.

‘Do you think he'll have other surprises like that in place?’

‘Undoubtedly.’ 

Sam takes a deep breath and blows out hard, running a hand through her hair. ‘Great. I just  _ love _ surprises.’

Her fingers come to rest on the back of her neck, in the place where the Tether had attached itself. She aches for the captured Aithsken, bound with no ropes but prisoners in their own bodies just the same. Stroking her skin gently, she thinks about Cairin, now residing where the Tether once clung. She promises herself that she will see these people free.

 


	18. A fire in my belly

Cairin rouses Claris at first light. The Aithsken emerges from the shelter unsteadily, like her limbs forgot how to work while she slept. She rubs her eyes and stretches, then sheaths a knife at her belt and loads her crossbow, resting it carefully against a tree. The vulnerable woman vanishes, the hard-eyed fighter taking her place. 

A small kettle is steaming on the raked-up embers. Cairin pours some of the scalding water into a cup and hands it to Claris with a smile. 

“Thank you,” Claris says. Though her voice is rough with sleep and fatigue, her answering smile is sweet. 

Sam watches their interaction with fascination. For all that Cairin has countless acquaintances across many worlds, this is the first time that Sam has met anyone that she could call Cairin's friend. Their affection for each other shows in their easy smiles, their familiarity with each other’s habits. Cairin’s respect for Claris is less visible, but it is evident enough to Sam, who can feel it in Cairin as the granite bedrock of their relationship. It reminds Sam of her friendship with Janet.

Claris stirs a pinch of dried leaves into her cup, the released fragrance drifting across the air between them as she blows on the tea to cool it. Before she takes a sip, she sets the cup down and makes her way to another shelter, returning with two pieces of flat bread. She offers one to Cairin. 

“Our breakfast must be scanty, I'm afraid. The Jaffa have robbed all of our stores.”

Cairin lifts a hand to refuse. “Thank you, but we do not need anything. You must preserve what you have for yourselves.”

Claris does not protest, but instead tucks the bread into the bag at her belt. Sam gives Cairin a mental nudge. 

“Oh. Yes,” Cairin says aloud, and Claris looks up over the rim of her cup, frowning at the non-sequitur. “Sam has reminded me that we brought some supplies with us. I hid the cases near the gate when we realised that everything was not as it should be. If you can retrieve them safely, please make whatever use you can of what they contain. We didn't bring much in the way of food, but some of the items may be useful.”

“Thank you,” Claris says. 

Breakfast over, Claris leads them northwards out of the camp. “We will be able to look down onto the entrance to the mine from higher up in the hills,” she explains. “The Jaffa have made a camp for the prisoners at the entrance. They live in tents. There are no doors, no bars, no locks.”

“It doesn't sound like they need locks or bars,” Cairin remarks. “These devices are known as Tethers. Now I understand why.”

Outside the hollow of the Aithsken camp, the air is cold and sharp, cutting at the back of Sam’s throat. She expects to hear wildlife scurrying about in the undergrowth—well, Cairin expects it—but nothing moves except for the occasional bird and even they are silent. Cairin wonders to herself if the nighttime movements of the Aithsken have upset the animals’ routines or whether they can sense the evil that has rooted itself into this planet like an invasive weed.

Now that dawn illuminates the landscape, Sam can see that the forest isn't a uniform blanket of trees, but a patchwork quilt—denser growth amongst more open woodland—draped over the contours of the land. Scattered farmsteads populate the mist-swathed valleys between broad-shouldered beasts of hills, which themselves sulk in the shadow of massive, Titan-esque mountains, their unforgiving outlines smudged with cloud. 

The path they take is narrow and overgrown, twisting in and out of the trees into fields where unharvested crops sway in the breeze, their heads heavy with seed, their leaves heavy with dew. Their clothes are soon drenched, but Claris shows no sign of discomfort. At first, she walks slowly, as if she is waiting for Cairin to keep up, which she does easily on Sam’s long legs. After a while, Claris settles into a steady, ground-eating pace which fits her own height more comfortably.

‘Tia was a short woman,’ Cairin explains, even before Sam can ask. ‘She was nearer Janet’s height. Claris always found it difficult to match our pace.’

As they climb higher, the trees begin to thin out, and their movements are checked by the desire to avoid attracting attention, although they have seen no sign of any Jaffa. Sam begins to think that these hills are completely lifeless, they are so quiet and still. But then, as they pass through a narrow gap between high boulders, a herd of goat-like animals thunders away down the slope, startled away from their grazing. The women duck back behind the stones, hearts pounding, breath ragged, ears straining for evidence that the goats have alerted the enemy to their presence. No sounds reach them but a distant bleat or two as the animals settle back to their breakfast.

“How quickly they revert back to the wild,” Claris says, her eyes on the stock. “Only a few moons ago they would have come to us as friends. But at least it should keep them safe from hungry Jaffa.”

She resumes her climb, Cairin close behind her. Cairin is alert, but her thoughts are rushing beneath the surface like water in a storm drain.

Finally, Sam breaks into the faraway monologue. ‘What's wrong, Cairin?’

The murmuring stops abruptly, replaced by a faint embarrassment. Apparently, Cairin had not realised her control had slipped enough to let her thoughts become audible to her host. She hesitates before replying. ‘This is my fault.’

‘This is not your fault!’ Sam snaps back. ‘You didn’t even know Goibniu was alive. How can this be your fault?’

‘I helped the Aithsken to build their civilisation and have provided a certain amount of friendly supervision ever since. I thought that it was laudable that their society was so peaceful they had no need to create a dedicated fighting force. But now someone has taken advantage of their inability to fight back quickly and effectively. If I had advised them to train warriors they would not be in this situation.’

‘You can't know that,’ Sam tells her. ‘There would probably just be more dead now than captured. Even crossbows wouldn’t have been much defense against staff weapons.’

Cairin does not reply, and Sam senses her uncertainty.

‘And they seem to be doing pretty well anyway, Cairin. Whatever you did or didn’t teach them, they’re strong people. And we’re here to help.’ It’s the best Sam can do for reassurance, but she can still feel guilt and sadness churning away in Cairin's mind. 

They are now completely exposed on the hillside. They climb hunched over, trying to stay hidden amongst the rocks, but it is difficult. Loose stones keep shifting under their feet, the sound of their boots echoing in the morning air. Eventually the path levels out and turns east, following the edge of a south-facing cliff. Claris drops to her belly and crawls forward, Cairin imitating her.

The cliff is man-made, a slice taken out of the side of the hill to expose the rock beneath. Thirty feet below them is a broad plateau trampled flat by generations of miners, various paths fanning out from a point against the cliff which must be the entrance to the mine. The main path strikes straight out towards the edge of the hill, then dives down the slope at an angle. On either side is a row of tents, quiet, plain and orderly. At the end of the row nearest the mine a few dejected figures tend cooking vessels placed on small fires, watched over by a single Jaffa, the end of his staff resting on one heavy boot.

More tents cluster in a group nearer the face of the escarpment but these are anything but orderly and quiet. A large fire burns merrily here, more Jaffa lounging around it. Their voices drift up to the listening ears: a few sharp orders, some jeering heckles. As Claris, Cairin and Sam watch, two men stagger out of the rough hole in the hillside, packs filled with rock on their backs, another Jaffa following them. They trudge between the tents and out of sight down the slope.

“They burn the ore at a kiln further down the hill and take the product into the stronghold,” Claris breathes. “I don't know what happens to it in there.”

Cairin makes some reply, but Sam has long since stopped listening. She cannot take her eyes off the scene below. Even at this distance she can make out the Tether at the base of every man's skull, the grey ovoid seeming to absorb the morning light rather than reflect it. 

She shivers internally. Was this what she had almost been captured for? This, or captivity inside the stronghold—whatever that was—of a more intimate nature? Was it one of the Jaffa below who had held the Tether to her neck, watched it bite in as it sucked the life from her? 

The memories she had of being Tethered are the only ones from her eventful history which she has asked Cairin to suppress. Now, she can summon only brief, disconnected images and sensations from that time, but even they ignite a fire in her belly as she watches the prisoners. For once in her life there is nothing of the soldier or the scientist in her mind; for once her whole being seems to be aflame with wracking, desperate sympathy. She burns to wipe this planet clean of this evil, to obliterate every Tether, to take away the despair from the faces of the Aithsken. She instinctively reaches out for Cairin to relinquish control. 

‘No,’ comes Cairin’s voice, regretful, but firm.

‘Cairin!’ Sam yells, indignant. ‘I need to— I can't just— Look at them!’

‘I need the soldier now, Sam,’ Cairin tells her. ‘Harness those feelings—let that fire burn within you—but let it drive you onwards towards the target. You will help no-one by exploding under the energy at the wrong time.’

Like a child acquiescing under a mother’s admonition, Sam reluctantly subsides. Cairin’s consciousness reaches out to her, clings to her: a mother’s hand clasping her child’s small fingers. Sam draws strength from the sensation. 

“Where is the stronghold?” Cairin is asking Claris. 

“On the next hill. You cannot see the entrance from here, it is further around the hill, facing towards the stargate.”

“Is there a place we can view it from?”

Claris narrows her eyes as she considers the route. “We will have to go back down into the forest. There is no cover on the hill. We will surely be seen.”

Cairin nods. A gust of wind drives acrid smoke from the Jaffa’s fires towards them. Taking shallow breaths to avoid a cough which could betray them, she asks “How long will it take us?”

Claris turns her head towards the ground, blinking the smoke from her eyes. “It is early yet. We should make it not longer after the sun has reached its zenith.”

“Can we make it there and back to the stargate before dark?”

“I think so.”

“Then let's go.”

 

************

 

The stronghold turns out to be a fortress built on the side of the hill, squat towers threaded together by short walls, the brown stone pierced with bow-slits. Another wall, partially-ruined, snakes around the shallow slope, enclosing an open area. There is an air of impenetrability to it, despite the patches of missing stonework. Through the gaps in the ruined wall they can see tents scattered over the ground inside, roughly grouped around fires, marking the presence of a battalion of Jaffa. On the top of the hill sits a tel’tak, shining and resplendent, completely incongruous in this landscape of organic greens and browns, a proclamation of Goibniu's presence.

Cairin lies on the ground under broad, hanging tree branches, the cold seeping in through her layers of clothing, peering at the stronghold, her whole attention focussed on the complex. Beside her, Claris keeps watch on the surroundings. There is more obvious Jaffa activity here, apart from the forces on the hill: the ground has been regularly trampled by heavy boots, and a sickly smell marks the presence of a midden nearby. They have not yet had to confront any of the goa’uld’s warriors, but they can’t be lucky forever. 

“The stronghold is not large,” Cairin says, a question in her voice.

Claris does not move her eyes away from the trees as she replies, “The parts that you can see are the keep and the bailey. The rest of the stronghold extends back into the hillside and down for many levels. We tried to draw a map of its interior but we did not have much success. We all explored it as children, but most can remember no more than I.”

“That is understandable.” Cairin reassures. She continues her surveillance.

“There are no large weapons visible,” she whispers, almost to herself. “And only the tel'tak on the ridge. Is that the only one?”

Claris glances at the goa'uld ship. “I think there are two. But no more than that.” 

Cairin drops her forehead to the moist ground, thinking through what she can see. In her mind all the parts of the equation are spread out, but Sam is not sure how to put them together and this is not the time for explanations. Cairin turns her attention back to the outer wall and frowns. The bailey is entered by a gateway at the lowest point which is flanked by narrow, square towers. Four Jaffa guard this gateway but there are numerous other possible points of entry along the length of the outer wall and none of these appear to be guarded.

‘Perhaps they rely on the numbers of Jaffa inside to keep intruders out,’ Sam suggests. Cairin is not completely convinced.

They remain a little longer, trying to take in as much detail as possible for later consideration. As they shuffle back from their vantage point, their movements startle a flock of large birds roosting above them in the canopy. With a heart-stopping pounding of wings they break from the trees. At the burst of noise the Jaffa guards take defensive stances, training their staff weapons towards the thicket where the women are hiding. Cairin schools her breathing, pushing the burst of adrenaline out of Sam’s system, and puts a warm hand over Claris’ trembling one. She is reasonably sure that at this distance the Jaffa will not be able to sense their naquadah. One of the Jaffa takes a few steps forward, but as the birds disperse over the stronghold another makes an unintelligible remark. They laugh loudly and relax, turning to watch the wildlife disappear over the crest of the hill. 

One bird straggles behind, flying lower over the walls than the rest of the flock. As it crosses the line of the outer wall, the air crackles. Red bolts of energy shoot towards the creature from at least four positions within the bailey and the bird drops out of the air into the Jaffa camp. Claris gasps. The bird disappears behind the wall to a roar of approval from the enemy force. Someone's dinner that night is going to be richer a cut of meat.

‘Well, that was a surprise,’ Sam notes, her thoughts breaking into the shocked silence in Cairin’s mind.

‘Indeed it was.’

‘I think we know now why they aren't defending the ruined wall.’

‘Indeed we do.’

Patting Claris’ hand to signal their exit, Cairin withdraws from their hiding place and begins the loop back towards the stargate, keeping to the thicker parts of the woodland. Claris takes point naturally, crossbow at the ready. Sam is nervous. She keeps expecting to run into a Jaffa patrol. Her anxiety must be irritating Cairin but she makes no complaint. The symbiote herself is watchful but not overly concerned, the zat—their only weapon—held loosely in one hand.

‘From what I have seen I do not think we need to worry about Jaffa, not until we draw much nearer the stargate. Goibniu seems focused on the mine and stronghold. There are no more settlements near here to raid for prisoners, and he does not seem to have much other interest in the Aithsken.’

‘What are we going to do if there are more defences around the stargate?’

‘As your saying goes, we will cross that bridge when we come to it.’

Sam falls silent.

Despite Cairin’s apparent nonchalance, she is as jumpy as Claris when they hear the familiar whine of a ship heading towards them. They back up to the narrow trunks of the nearest trees, hoping the leaves will camouflage them. The tel'tak skims over the forest almost lazily.

“It is heading towards the mine,” Claris whispers grimly. “They must have more prisoners.” Her face is tight with anger and helplessness. Cairin crosses the space between them and lays a hand on her arm.

“We will free them. Do not lose hope.” She holds Claris' eyes until the other woman nods her agreement.

The sun has set by the time they reach the stargate, although it is still light. They take cover until they assure themselves that there are no Jaffa nearby. Cairin turns to her friend.

“If you can do so safely, get word to as many of your people as possible. Tell them to prepare themselves to fight. I think we will have numbers on our side as long as we can disable the Tethers and any other surprises there might be. Goibniu does not have many Jaffa.”

Claris nods.

“But we will not be able to come back here until we are ready to make a move against him. We cannot risk being intercepted. Put a watch on the stargate at all times for our return. Do nothing, however, until that time. When we come, have someone meet us at the ruins of the mill to the south of here. Do you remember? You took me there once to gather some flowers.”

“White Eveningstars,” Claris smiles. “I remember.”

Cairin leans forward, gripping the other woman's shoulders and planting a kiss on each cheek. Then she runs for the DHD. As she comes within ten feet of it she and Sam once again hear the booming noise but it has no more effect than before, and without waiting for any more surprises, Cairin dials. Checking to make sure the wormhole engaging has not drawn any patrols near, she heads for the event horizon, glancing back at the last moment to where Claris stands. They see her, her hand raised in farewell, but then there is a shifting of leaves in the undergrowth and she disappears.

 

************

 

Around and around and around go Sam's thoughts, a tornado of emotion that destroys all objectivity. Cairin is shaken by Sam's visceral reaction to the presence of Goibniu and his Jaffa on Aithskell, more shaken than she is to the violation of a place and a people she loves so well. Sam is usually so logical, so detached—Cairin feels like their roles have been reversed.

So she does what she knows Sam would usually do and considers the problem from all angles. From all she saw on Aithskell, and from what Claris told her, she concludes that Goibniu cannot be working with or for another goa'uld. Were he doing so, he would have had access to more strategically valuable planets, and there would have been more Jaffa and more ships. Aithskell does not even have a ring platform—she knows this because she has scanned for one.

What is obvious to Cairin is that Goibniu needs to be neutralised and the Aithsken freed. It is not only for their benefit that she determines this but for the good of the galaxy. He cannot be allowed to develop new weapons: that would give the goa'uld a potentially catastrophic edge against the Tok'ra and Taur'i, and would surely cast doubt of the goa'ulds’ mortality into the minds of the Jaffa who have not yet abandoned their masters. It may even make those who have joined the Free Jaffa change their minds about the goa'ulds’ godliness.

The High Council must be apprised of the situation. Cairin has her doubts about their response, but nothing can be attempted without their sanction. Galtas, too, may be useful. He will be able to give them instruction into how the Tethers may be removed. But there would still be the matter of actually launching their offensive… Cairin bends her mind to the task. It does not take long before finds the solution she is looking for.

‘Sam?’ There is no answer from her host. 'SAM!’ 

The maelstrom in Sam's mind slows and Sam's voice emerges. ‘Cairin?’ 

‘Have you formulated a plan yet?’ 

‘What?’ 

‘You've been thinking very loudly. I wondered if you had something to show for it.’

‘I've—’ Sam gives the impression of someone blinking in bright light after being in the dark. ‘No. I haven't. I'm sorry.’ 

Cairin gives her a metaphorical hug. ‘It's OK, Sam. It was a shock. And it was bound to have affected you deeply.’

‘Yeah. But I'm not being very helpful. Have you come up with anything? What are we going to do?' 

‘I have given it some thought, yes.’

‘And?’

‘Well, all-out assault is out of the question. That is not the way the Tok'ra operate. And if we did stage any kind of attack we don't know what Goibniu can do to the Tethered people in retaliation. There may be a kill-switch built in.’

There is a brief pause as Sam takes this in. ‘I hadn't thought of that.’

‘And Goibniu probably won't accept another goa'uld approaching him, so anything undercover is out. By now he has had time to develop many new weapons, so there is a good chance that anyone going in will be fighting technology they are not prepared for. The Aithsken are not equipped for that kind of situation. Nor can we go in alone, because Goibniu will be able to sense me.’

‘Wow. You really have considered all the angles, haven't you?’ Sam seems to make an effort to start thinking logistically. ‘Maybe if we get my dad and Selmak to help…’

Cairin cuts her off. ‘We don't need to worry about finding help—I'm sure the High Council will feel they have a duty to assist because Goibniu is a significant threat, or at least he will be if he gains power, and he will gain power if he has chance to develop new weapons.’

‘Right.’ Sam gives up her attempts to help, trusting that Cairin has the answer. ‘So the bottom line is…’

‘We need a force that is experienced in fighting superior technology, can successfully break into Goibniu's compound to deactivate the Tethers before alerting his Jaffa, then can neutralize or capture Goibniu himself. There is only one option that I can think of.’

Comprehension dawns in Sam's mind just as Cairin continues,

‘We need SG-1.’

 


	19. Fury in my veins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the indefatigable [NellieOleson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NellieOleson/pseuds/NellieOleson) for attempting to eradicate the Britishness from this chapter. If any remains, blame my...well, Britishness.

“Goibniu? We were not aware he was even alive. We have heard nothing of him from any of our operatives.”

Anger threads Thoran's voice. He seems to take it as a personal affront that a goa'uld has moved across the galaxy and formed a base of operations without notifying him first. Perhaps he's just annoyed that the rookie Tau’ri recruit and the failed Tok'ra operative made the discovery before any of his cronies.

Sam replies evenly, “We don't have absolute confirmation of his identity. However, our source was very definite that his name was Goibniu. And we saw for ourselves that whoever it is has access to weapons we haven't encountered before.”

Cairin is doing her best to keep Sam's annoyance to manageable levels. After much discussion, they've decided that Sam will be the primary mind in this endeavour. Cairin might know the Aithsken better, but this is Sam's fight. If it weren't for Goibniu and the Tethers, she wouldn’t be here. And it will be her team they turn to for help.

Just as soon as they have dealt with the High Council. 

“You said that the stargate was defended by an automated weapon?” Per'sus asks.

Sam gladly turns her attention to him and away from Thoran. She likes Per'sus. He's a bit pompous, perhaps, but thoughtful and just.

“Yes. We were told that it’s some kind of shockwave, with effects similar to a concussion grenade. It was ineffective on us and our source tells us it doesn't affect Jaffa, which suggests that it’s naquadah-sensitive.”

Per'sus nods. “Was there anything else of note?”

“An automatic, multi-positional weapon that is either heat- or motion-sensitive. Probably plasma-based. It's one of the defenses protecting his base.”

“Why this particular planet?” Delek asks.

Sam fills him in on the history of the planet and its minerals. Delek strokes one finger across his lips thoughtfully but doesn’t reply.

In fact, no-one replies. It's unnervingly quiet in the council chamber, each council member lost in thought. Sam grows more impatient by the second until she's almost vibrating. Finally, Per'sus seems to notice that she is still waiting for a response.

“Thank you, Samantha. We will consider our options.”

It is clearly a dismissal. It's so ingrained in Sam to exit promptly when she's dismissed that she has already turned towards the door before the import of his words hits home. She whirls back to face them, eyes narrowed, taking in those neutral faces around their safe little table.

“What do you mean,  _ consider your options _ ? Aren't you going to do something?” Her voice is magnified as it bounces off the crystals in the ceiling and walls.

Malek frowns at her in barely-disguised contempt. “The decision on whether to act, and how, is one for the council to make. We thank you for your intelligence.”

Incredulity knocks Sam backwards a step. “’ _ Whether to act _ ?’” she repeats. “You can't seriously be contemplating doing  _ nothing _ ?” Her voice lifts in disbelief. But then she and Cairin come to the same realisation in the same second and instantaneous fury leaves her breathless.

“You want to let him carry on his research. And then you want to send an operative in to steal it.”

She looks around the table, but she can't catch the eye of a single council member. Their evasion tells her everything she needs to know.

“Of all the  _ stupid _ …”

Malek opens his mouth to retort, but Sam steamrolls right over him. “You don't even know whether you'd be able to get close enough to steal anything from him. If he's working alone, he's unlikely to want any other goa'uld near him. And what if he isn't working alone? What if he's developing weapons for Ba'al? Or Anubis? Or any of the other System Lords? Are you going to risk him delivering  _ any _ technology that might give one of them an edge?”

She pauses, waiting for an answer, but her last question has shaken their composure. She takes advantage of their confusion to continue, “If you did manage to get your hands on something, then what? It's not like the Tok'ra have a snowball's chance in hell of actually  _ using _ the weapons—Anubis has got you running scared. You're in no position to be scaling an offensive!”

Sam advances on the council until she's leaning over the table. “And all the while you're sitting there comfortably, Goibniu has enslaved the people of this planet and sent the rest into hiding! Don't you give a shit about them?”

“It is no more than any other goa'uld has done to countless other worlds and peoples,” Thoran is goaded into replying. “We cannot mount an immediate rescue because one goa'uld takes some prisoners.”

“This is  _ different _ ,” Sam hisses, her finger stabbing the air in front of her. “He is using technology that renders his slaves completely helpless. He has removed any trace of free will from their lives. They might as well be dead.”

She takes a deep breath and lobs her next comment into the air like a grenade. “They might as well be  _ hosts _ .”

It’s gratifying to see them all recoil as the insult is driven home like shrapnel. Even Cairin flinches.

Sam continues, her voice low and cold. “Do you have any idea...?” She gives a mirthless laugh. “No, no, of course  _ you _ don’t. I'm talking to the wrong people.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I'd like to speak to your hosts, please.”

Without hesitation, Garshaw lowers her head. When she lifts it again, Yosuuf gives her an encouraging smile. Thoran and Malek mutter angrily, their eyes turning to Per’sus, who tilts his head as he looks steadily at Sam.

She stares back, jaw set, eyes narrowed. It takes a few more long seconds before Per’sus bows in acquiescence. His movement silences Thoran and Malek, who drop their own chins with reluctance.

When they all look up again, their faces are different in a way that Sam can’t identify. They are somehow softer, more mobile, their expressions changing with each passing moment. Sam tries to calm herself. She drops her hands to her sides.

“Before you dismiss the plight of the Aithsken so readily, I need you all to look me in the eye and tell me that your symbiotes have  _ never _ seized control of your body. I don’t care why, whether it was because you were injured, or because they decided that they knew how to act better than you— it doesn’t matter.”

No-one speaks, and Sam sees understanding in every face.

She continues, “I need you to remember what it was like. Remember that helplessness. Remember how it felt to know that  _ anything _ could happen and you wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it. Remember it, so that your symbiote can feel exactly what you felt.

“Now think about what it would be like if you didn't trust that control would once again be restored to you.” She fixes Thoran's host with a look as cold as any Thoran has ever given her. “And don't let Thoran get on his high horse about this—because I know, and Colonel O'Neill knows, that the Tok'ra are just as willing to take absolute control as any goa'uld.” Out of the corner of her eye, Sam sees Yosuuf wince. The Tok’ra like to pretend that Jolinar and Kanaan never existed.

“This is what the Tethers do,” Sam explains. “And it is far worse than being a prisoner. If you're locked up you can choose how you move around your cell, or whether you're going to look for a means of escape. If you’re facing Jaffa armed with pain sticks you can choose whether or not to fight. With Tethers that choice is taken from you.”

Per'sus' host shifts in his chair. Cairin thinks his name might be Alfraed. It hasn't escaped Sam's notice that with the exception of Selmak and Garshaw, the members of the High Council nearly always speak with the voices of the symbiotes, as if the hosts are less important. Perhaps it's a conscious decision between host and symbiote; perhaps the Tok’ra have chosen—whether deliberately or otherwise—hosts who are more easily dominated. She doesn't know what the balance of power is in every Tok'ra mind, but she does feel like it’s payback for Cairin that for once the high-and-mighty Tok'ra agenda might be sidelined by her appeal to their hosts' humanity. Their compassion.

Finally, Alfraed speaks. “You speak wisely, Samantha. We will hear what you have to suggest.”

 

************

 

“The Tethers seem designed to be used with a base unit. Probably one which transmits a specific frequency to activate and deactivate them.” Galtas holds the Tether in the palm of his outstretched hand. “Once activated, each individual device emits a strong signal which scrambles the messages sent from the brain to the body. A lesser signal is emitted even when the device is deactivated, ensuring that the device cannot be removed. A third frequency is required to deactivate the Tether fully, at which point the legs retract.”

He turns the device over to reveal its smooth underbelly. There are two small holes near the center and three more on each side. He runs his fingers over them, a quizzical expression creasing his features.

“I admit I did not go so far as to take the device apart, preferring to test it as a working model—” He looks up as Sam shivers, her hand jerking upwards to rub the back of her neck. Her fingers dig into her hairline painfully but she revels in it. Even after all this time she still has moments when the most important thing in the galaxy is the freedom to move the way she chooses.

“I am sorry.” It is the light tenor of Lev's voice which breaks into her dark reverie. Sam looks up and sees sympathy and concern in his brown eyes. She forces her hand down to her side but it is captured in one of Lev's own. For a moment she has a disconcerting thought that he's going to make some kind of pass at her, but then he presses the Tether into her palm. She resists the urge to fling it across the room. Instead she takes a calming breath and makes herself study the device. She sees the dark grey of the rounded back, incised with swirling silver lines. The pale grey of the belly, not quite flat but contoured so as to fit better against the curve of a human neck.

“So—” Her voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. She swallows and tries again. “So, do you know the frequencies?”

Lev shakes his head.

“No. They are probably set by the base unit. I know the frequencies which activate this particular device, but they could easily be changed. I suspect that when you find the base unit it will be very straightforward to deactivate.”

Sam nods, paying only minimal attention to Lev's last words. The question circling her mind like a rat in a cage is  _ Why? If it is so easy to use, what made it go wrong for me? _

She can feel Lev's eyes on her, but it isn’t oppressive. He is simply waiting.

“Do you know why—?”

His answer is immediate, like he has been waiting for her to ask. His voice is gentle. “We believe the device malfunctioned because of the naquadah in your system. During our experiments, when we introduced naquadah into the test process the signal emitted by the Tether was greatly magnified. Although we have not been able to test it on a living person, we hypothesise that the naquadah present in the body of a host or a symbiote—or, in your case, a former host—created a feedback loop which, in essence, burned out your brain's ability to send signals to your body and your body's ability to process those signals.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, trying to remain objective, to consider this device through the eyes of a scientist and not as its victim.

Lev continues, “Just because we think we know why this occurred, doesn’t mean we know whether your body would have healed itself over time or whether you would have remained as you were.”

“Thank you, Lev. And Galtas.” She hands him back the Tether. “I think it helps, knowing that.”

“It always helps to have all the information.” Lev smiles.

Spoken like a true scientist, Sam thinks.

“I appreciate all the work you've put in. I just hope it will help to free the Aithsken.”

“We are truly glad to have been able to help.”

Sam turns to go, but is stalled by Lev's hand on her arm. “And, Samantha?”

“Yes?”

“We hope you succeed.”

 

************

 

“We've put the proposal before the High Council. They aren't happy about it, but they want Goibniu neutralized and we... persuaded... them to see the logic of acting sooner rather than later.”

From the way George smiles at the notes Sam has prepared for him, he knows exactly what she meant by 'persuaded'.

“I see.” He flips a page. “I can't fault your reasoning, Sam, but I'll be honest—you have no idea what you'll be up against. Are you sure you want to risk it?”

“I know it's risky, sir.” George opens his mouth but Sam continues. She doesn't need reminding not to call him 'sir' but right now she's talking to the base commander and it might do them both good to remember that. “But it's not like we haven't done risky things before and come out all right.”

She deliberately doesn't mention the times they almost weren't all right.

“I have a distinct tactical advantage now. And you have to agree that the potential benefits to the successful completion of the mission outweigh the risk. We know of at least one defensive and one offensive weapon on that planet which could be extremely beneficial to Earth.”

He chuckles briefly, shaking his head. Sam watches him closely, trying to second-guess his train of thought. She’s preparing another argument when he replies,

“God knows, the Pentagon is not going to deny you permission, not when you're offering us an opportunity to carry out our standing orders, no matter what the risk. As soon as I take this to them they'll be on it like jackals.” He looks up at her, eyes piercing. “Are you sure about this, Sam?”

Her carefully-constructed defense crumbles under his gaze. “No,” she admits. “And Cairin and I would go by ourselves if we could, so we didn't have lead anyone else into danger. But I don't think we can do it without them. I wasn't kidding when I said that all the other stuff we've been through is an advantage. We might not have advanced weapons, we might be a bit short on intel, but we—I mean, SG-1 and myself—are very good at…”

“...at pulling solutions out of your hat?” George smiles fully at her.

She ducks her head. “Well, I was going to say 'out of our asses', but yours is good, too.” She reaches over and places her hand on his arm. “I really need to do this, George. And Cairin and I can't do it without SG-1.”

He sighs. She knows then that she has won the fight.

“Well, Sam, I don't need to tell you that the Pentagon will want to see any weapons or other technology shared equally. But as far as I'm concerned, you have a go.”

He closes the file and Sam sighs in relief. All of the pieces are in place. Now she just has to wait for her team.

 


	20. Checking my behaviour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to NellieOleson for making this chapter so much better. Any mistakes are all mine.

Jack saunters through the stargate behind Daniel, one hand idly flicking the clip on his P-90. With the index finger of the other hand he stabs the air in the direction of his teammate. “I’m telling you, Daniel, that chick makes me nervous.” 

At the foot of the ramp, Daniel whirls around, his face scrunched in irritation. Jack smirks; Daniel-baiting never gets boring. “Jack, is it because they’re all women? Because, you know, if Sam were here she’d kick your ass for that attitude.”

“I’d kick his ass for what attitude?”

Jack looks up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. Carter is standing in the doorway, almost hidden by the SFs on guard. Her appearance is so unexpected, it's only her Tok'ra gear that tells him he's not dreaming. She never wears that in his dreams. 

Unbidden, a smile touches the corners of his mouth. He settles back on his heels, letting his gaze rest on her as she pushes off the doorframe to hug Daniel, who's handed over his weapon and is fumbling with his pack in his haste to shrug it off.

Jack’s missed Carter. He misses her in a different way to the way he misses Charlie; the pain is at once sharper, and more bearable. More bearable because he knows he's going to see her again, but with each goodbye the pain grips a little harder. The sight of her now soothes the ache momentarily, but after a brief moment of respite he feels it building again. Because the woman in front of him isn't the woman he's been missing. 

She definitely bears more than a passing resemblance to his Carter, but her hair is too long, the ends curling as they touch the top of her shoulders. It puts him in mind of the Doctor Carter from the alternate universe. And no matter how much Doctor Carter had wanted him to be  _ her _ Jack, she wasn't  _ his _ Carter.

At least she had had one thing in common with his Carter, and that was that he could read her like a book. This Carter's face is a mystery, her thoughts guarded from him in a way they've never been before. 

Behind him, Jack hears two more pairs of boots step onto the ramp and then Teal’c shoulders past. “Samantha Carter,” he says, before bowing. She takes advantage of his lowered head to press a kiss to his cheek.

With one hand on Teal'c's arm, she turns, dragging an awkward, polite expression onto her face for the benefit of the young man standing behind Jack.

“Captain Jones, isn’t it?” she asks.

Jones snaps to attention. “Ma’am.”

“Just Sam, please,” she says, her unnatural smile fading quickly. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“You too, uh, Sam,” Jones replies, moving cautiously past Jack, unable to resist the pull of the Carter-magnet. Jack knows that feeling; no matter what alternate universe she comes from, no matter how alien she seems, he can’t help but be drawn to Carter. The effort of holding back now is draining him.

Finally, she meets his eyes, and something shifts. The tightness in her face softens; a light kindles in her eyes. For Jack, though, this glimpse of his Carter is too little, too late; it does nothing to ease the ache inside him.

“Hi, Jack.”

“Bored of your toys already, Carter? Come to get some more?” 

At his words, the trace of the old Carter vanishes again. The light still burns in her eyes, but now it's fierce. 

“I need your help, Jack.” She looks around at Teal'c and Daniel. “All of you.”

Jack nods, giving himself a few more seconds to process this unexpected homecoming. 

“OK, Carter. We’ll get through our post-mission checks and meet you in the briefing room in an hour.” He gestures the rest of SG-1 through the blast doors; they go without argument, Daniel murmuring something to Sam as he leaves. She steps out of their way, but as Jack passes her, she reaches out a hand to touch his elbow. 

“Thank you.”

His eyes roam over her, cataloguing all of the features that he knows so well, trying to offset them against everything that seems so strange about her. The colour of her eyes is the same; the end of her nose is slightly pink from the chill underground air, just the way he remembers; a dimple still dents one cheek. But her scent has changed, and the feel of her fingers on his arm seems wrong somehow. 

“Don't thank me yet, Carter. I haven't done anything.” He pulls his arm away, gently, and follows the rest of his team. 

 

************

 

_ SG-1 is together again.  _

It was Dylan's first thought when he saw Major Carter—Sam—waiting for them in the gate room.

He hung back, not wanting to intrude on their reunion. He knows he’s as much a part of SG-1 now as she had been, but he also knows it’s not the same. He’s read enough of their mission reports to know just what they’d been through together.

Bonds forged in hell—literally—are hard to break.

He’s seen first hand how difficult it's been for the colonel, Daniel and Teal’c to adjust to Sam's absence. He sees the way they act like she’s still part of the team: the way they leave a space for her around the campfire; the way Teal'c checks himself slightly before sitting next to O'Neill at the briefing table, because that was always her spot. He sees their eyes drift down the corridor to her old lab, sees the dusty case of Diet Coke on top of the colonel's fridge, although he knows none of the guys drink it.

Now they're together again, but her teammates don’t seem happy to see her. They’re distant, thoughtful, silent. 

They're each sitting on a bed in the infirmary, while nurses bustle around them. Temperature: check. Blood samples: check. Ultrasound: check. Dylan's in perfect health and fitter than he's ever been in his life, but he's never spent so much time being scanned and prodded and stuck with needles as he has since joining the SGC. 

He glances at each of his teammates in turn, waiting for one of them to speak. They've said nothing since they left the gate room, and while that might be normal for Teal’c and even the colonel some days, it’s definitely weird for Daniel to be so quiet. Eventually Dylan breaks the silence himself. 

“So…Sam said she needed our help. Do any of you have any idea what it might be about?” 

Daniel shakes his head. Teal'c allows himself a moment to think before he replies, “I do not.”

There is no reply from Colonel O'Neill. He’s pulled some crumpled pieces of paper from his pocket and is squinting at the faded scribbles. 

“Colonel?” Dylan asks. 

The colonel scrunches up one piece of paper. “The Tok'ra probably screwed something up and need us to haul their asses out of the fire. Again.”

He flicks the ball of paper across the room. It misses the trash can. 

Teal'c frowns. “Samantha Carter is a most resourceful and capable warrior, O’Neill. She would only request our help in the most serious circumstances.”

Daniel cuts across the end of Teal'c's sentence, “Did anyone else think Sam seemed different?” 

Teal'c raises an eyebrow. “In what way, Daniel Jackson?” 

“I dunno. She just didn't seem like herself.”

Dylan looks at his commanding officer, who is folding the remaining scrap of paper into smaller and smaller halves. His brows are drawn down low over his eyes. 

“Jack?”

Colonel O'Neill replies, his voice expressionless, “We haven't seen her for a long time, Daniel. Maybe you're just remembering wrong.” 

“You don't think it's got something to do with her being Tok'ra?”

“I have no idea.” The colonel's tone says that he would really like Daniel to shut the hell up, but Daniel persists. 

“Well, Jacob's changed, hasn't he, Jack? I mean, I didn't meet him before Selmak, but you did. He's different now, right? It stands to reason that Sam would be too.”

Teal’c says, carefully, “The Tok’ra call the joining of host and symbiote ‘blending’. They may refer to more than a melding of physical beings. It would not be surprising that two minds in such close harmony would influence each other.” 

Colonel O'Neill’s hands stop fidgeting. His scowl deepens. 

“All right,” comes the doctor’s voice from behind them. “You’re cleared to go.”

Colonel O’Neill jumps from the bed. “Showers. Then briefing room,” he orders. Without waiting for anyone else he bolts from the infirmary. Dylan, Daniel and Teal’c exchange frowns as they too slip from the beds, the nurses shooing them out of the door, but none of them have anything else to say.

 

************

 

Once they’ve changed into clean uniforms, they invade the briefing room, bringing with them a smell of soap and coffee. Sam is waiting for them, sitting to General Hammond’s right, talking softly. Colonel O’Neill sits opposite Sam, Teal’c next to her, with Daniel opposite. Dylan eases himself into the chair next to Teal’c.

Somewhere between the locker room and here the colonel must have pushed away whatever darkness had settled on him in the infirmary. He claps his hands together with forced joviality. “So, what mess are the Tok'ra in now?”

Sam doesn’t return his smile, forced or otherwise. “I'm not here for the Tok'ra. In fact, they don't really want me doing this.”

“OK,” the colonel drawls, “so why do you need our help?”

She takes a deep breath. “We recently visited a planet called Aithskell for supplies of metals. When we got there we discovered that a goa’uld has occupied the region nearest the stargate. He’s set up his base in a partially-ruined fort near the mine and has been taking prisoners to extract the minerals. Cairin’s contact among the Aithsken informed us that it was a goa’uld called Goibniu. His army of Jaffa is small, but,” she pauses, emphasising her next words, “he has weapons we’ve never seen a goa’uld use before.”

Before the colonel has a chance to reply, Daniel butts in. “That makes sense. In Irish mythology, Goibniu made the magical weapons of the Tuatha de Danann. He was apparently mortally wounded by one of his own weapons but after a bath in healing water he came back to full health and strength.” He looks around at them all, eyebrows raised, expectant.

Teal’c picks up the thread Daniel’s left hanging. “Do you believe that the legend refers to a sarcophagus?”

“It could be,” Daniel replies. “I mean, it sounds like one.” Then he grimaces. “Although, actually in another legend he dies of a mysterious plague... After that, he doesn’t appear again in the mythology.”

Colonel O’Neill’s fingers are drumming lightly on the tabletop. They cease their percussion as he observes, “Well, obviously he didn't die.”

Teal’c suggests, “Perhaps he was taken prisoner.”

Daniel nods his agreement. “You wouldn’t want someone with his expertise working against you. Either for you or not at all, I would guess.”

The colonel cuts in, “This is all very interesting, Daniel, but it doesn’t tell us what he’s doing now.” He glances across the table at Sam. “Or how this involves us.”

Sam looks to General Hammond, who says, “Sam has requested—and been granted—permission to lead a team to Aithskell.” He looks around the table. “That team will be SG-1.”

“Sweet,” the colonel says, but it sounds automatic.

Sam hands out manila folders. Inside are only a handful of pages: rough maps labelled with approximate distances; sketch plans of an encampment; a few lines detailing technology Dylan has never heard of before. “This is everything we have on the goa'uld, the planet, the technology he seems to have,” she says. “It's not much, but we don’t have time for lengthy reconnaissance. We need to go in as soon as we can.”

“Why the hurry?” The colonel asks, as he leafs through the pages, eyes scanning the contents. “There's lots of goa'uld out there, Carter. What's so special about this one?”

“He's using Tethers, Jack.”

Sam speaks quietly, but every man in the room hears her. The silence that follows her words reminds Dylan of the breathless moment after a detonator is pressed. The moment when you feel like your body is poised on the summit of a mountain. Sound recedes; the air is thin.

Then comes the explosion, when the world hurtles back towards you with deafening fury.

This is the bastard who took her from them. 

Colonel O'Neill looks up, his flippant carelessness gone. His eyes lock onto Sam's with an intensity that burns the air between them.

“Goibniu created the goa'uld's weapons,” Sam says, directing her words to Colonel O'Neill. There might as well be no-one else in the room. “He’s out there now, probably developing more. He’s dangerous and we need to stop him. But we can't do it by ourselves. I need SG-1.”

“Why?” Colonel O'Neill asks, his voice low.

“Because anyone who goes in will be going in blind and I know you can handle anything you come up against, unlike the Aithsken. Because I can't go in by myself. I could go in posing as a goa'uld, but I won't be able to accomplish much. I need more forces.” There is quiet power behind her words; it is the voice of a woman with a mission. “I guess this is why the Tok'ra have developed the MO that they have: they don’t have the manpower for all-out assault, and they can't do covert.”

She grins at the colonel, her expression almost feral. “But you can.”

 

************

 

The next day, Jack arrives on base later than he should; Daniel and Jones are already in Daniel's office when Jack enters.

“Jack, you look like hell,” is Daniel's helpful remark. 

He knows. After all, he had to look at himself in the mirror this morning. “Can it, Daniel.”   

“Was it nightmares?”

Jack doesn't reply, conscious of the third person in the room. Jones might be a part of the team but it doesn't mean Jack wants to spill his secrets in front of him. The captain picks up on Jack's sideways look and is quick to hand him an out, though, saying loudly, “Does anyone want coffee? I'll make a commissary run—”

Daniel isn’t so considerate. “Jack, Dylan needs to know these things too.”

Jack clenches his jaw. He hates it when Daniel’s right. The kid is going to have to know sooner or later just what goes on in Jack’s head at night. After all, they share a tent often enough.

“Fine,” he snaps. “Yes, Daniel, it was.”

Daniel waits. Jack collapses into a chair and drops his head into his hands, rubbing at his scalp.

“Kanaan,” he says, quietly. 

Daniel is instantly sympathetic. “Ah.”

Trying to keep his voice low, even though Jones is making a big show of powering up the laptop behind Daniel and is obviously trying not to hear, he continues, “They've—ah—ever since Carter—”

His voice catches and he closes his mouth again.

“Jack—” Daniel begins, but Jones interrupts.

“You know, sir, I really do need some coffee.”

He’s a good kid, Jack thinks gratefully. He sits up straighter and fixes a smirk onto his face, trying to push away the horror that lingers in his tired brain. “Laura kept you up all night, did she?”

Jones shrugs, not quite managing to hide a smile. “Well, you know how it is, first night home and all…” 

Nostalgia and regret hit Jack square in the chest. “Not for a while, Jones.” Not for six years. No matter how much he wants it again. “But yeah, I know.” 

Jones’ smile falters and turns apologetic. “So, coffee?”

“That would be great, Captain, thanks.”

“No sweat, sir.” Jones stages his retreat, but Jack knows that Daniel will return to the charge as soon as he's out of earshot.

“Maybe you should see someone about the nightmares, Jack?” 

There he goes again.

Jack hauls himself to his feet. He might not have much height on Daniel but he’ll use those couple of inches when he needs to.

“Daniel, leave it,” he says, putting as much command into his voice as he can through the exhaustion. “It’s nothing I can’t deal with. This isn’t the time for psychobabble. We have a mission to plan.”

He turns his back on the archaeologist and opens one of the folders Sam gave them the day before. He knows exactly what Daniel must look like behind him, mouth open, fists on hips, trying to think of something else to say. He obviously comes up blank, though. Jack hears him heave a loud sigh before moving away to his bookshelves.

Jones returns with coffee and Carter, who's buzzing with an energy far greater than any caffeine will give her. Revenge is said to be sweet, too, but there's a pucker between her brows that says she's going to have to see this through before she tastes anything but bitterness. 

He understands. They all do, except maybe Jones. Jack hopes the captain will never understand the way they do. Jack had thought maybe Carter was immune; from the very beginning the stargate program took and took from her but she kept on giving, never losing that wide-eyed wonder at what she could learn.

Until she was Tethered. 

Jack doesn't know what stole Carter's wonder. Was it the Tether itself, sapping it from her the way it sapped her ability to move? Was it leaving Earth? Or did it gradually fade away in the blending with the snake? 

That's not the only thing she's lost. Gone, too, is her diffidence, her uncertainty in her own ability. Even when she was blowing up a sun she was hesitant, double- and triple-checking her hypothesis, looking to him for reassurance. There's no question in her eyes now, no doubt that her aim is true. She knows exactly what she needs from them all.

Daniel is buried in a stack of books searching for any information he can find on Goibniu, while the others formulate their strategy. Jones stays pretty quiet, for the most part, asking intelligent questions every now and again, but Carter mostly replies with ‘We don’t know’, which starts to piss Jack off. Teal’c agrees with everything Carter suggests, so it’s left to Jack to pick her decisions apart.

“I think we need a two-pronged attack,” she says, standing in front of the chalkboard, passing the chalk from one hand to the other. “We know where the prisoners are at the mine, so we—Cairin and I—will go there first with one other person as backup. Once we’ve worked out how to remove the Tethers we’ll feed that information back to the other team. After that, we can converge on the stronghold to free the rest of the prisoners and find Goibniu.”

Jack shakes his head. “No matter how covert we are, Carter, freeing all the prisoners first is going to create a lot of noise, and moves us away from the primary objective, which is to neutralise the goa'uld. We get him first, then we’ll have all the time in the world to work out the Tethers.”

“We can’t do that,” she replies, her voice tight. “We know it’s risky, but we have no idea whether the Tethers are linked into a central system. We can't risk the possibility of Goibniu being able to hold them hostage, or worse, just hit the kill switch.”

The thought of the collateral damage, hundreds of innocent people, helplessly subject to this sick bastard’s whims, is enough to silence Jack. He looks away from Carter’s flinty stare, towards the papers in his hands. Out of the corner of his eye he sees her rub the back of her neck, combing her fingers through her hair.

The room falls silent, except for the sound of Daniel huffing as he throws another tome onto the pile of useless books behind him. 

Turning back to the board, Carter takes a deep breath, then draws a line from the stargate towards the mine. “So, my team will take this route—”

“I will accompany you, Samantha Carter,” Teal’c says firmly.

Jack's head snaps up. “No, Teal'c, you'll be more useful in the other team—”

Carter cuts straight across him. “That will be perfect, Teal'c, thanks.”

Now she’s messing with his team and he’s not OK with that. “Carter—”

She meets his stare calmly. “Jack, between us, Teal'c, Cairin and I will be able to deal with any problems that might arise. He comes with me.”

“Who’s commanding this mission, Carter?” He says it more sharply than he’d intended but he doesn’t apologise.

Sam lifts her chin, a challenge in her eyes. “I am.”

There’s nothing he can say to that so he lets his gaze fall away, again. He doesn’t know why she even bothered consulting them at all; she and Cairin seem to have this covered all by themselves. 

Cairin keeps to the background, but Jack knows she's not a silent partner in this endeavour. He watches Carter closely, watches for those moments when her eyes focus on something far away and she stops listening to the voices around her, instead—he can only assume—listening to the other voice inside her head. Each time the pain inside him ratchets a fraction higher and his jaw clenches a little tighter. 

When he and the captain are deciding on equipment they need from supply, Cairin finally makes her appearance. As he registers the sound of her voice, Jack freezes, all thought of ammunition and power bars vanishing from his mind. 

“He was never a System Lord,” Cairin is saying, “He never sought dominion over vast territories. He has one overriding desire and that is to further his craft at any cost.”

Daniel is nodding away, writing frantically in his notebook. Jones looks up from his own lists.

Cairin sounds so sure of herself, but Jack thinks he's picked up on an inconsistency. “Hang on, I thought you’d never met old Guv'nor?”

“I have not,” she replies, her voice cool. “But Egeria had. I have spent much time since our trip to Aithskell recalling everything that she passed on regarding him.”

Jack shudders. 

“Your genetic memory, right?” Jones asks. 

“That is correct.”

“Got anything useful you think you might need to share with us?” Jack can’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but Cairin doesn’t rise to the bait.

“You have as much information as I have now. I do not know where he has been for so long, nor what has happened to him during that time. And I can only conjecture what his research now will be.”

“I'm looking forward to getting my hands on his research,” Jones says with enthusiasm. “Even if he hasn't made any new weapons yet, there must be something we'll be able to use to build our own.”

“Speaking of which, Cairin, what weapon will you be carrying on this one?” Jack allows himself a wolfish smile. “Carter must be itching to get her hands on a P-90 again.”

His smile fades under Cairin’s disdainful stare. “We will use our own weapons. If we are apprehended, and we are carrying a Tau'ri gun, it will be hard to pass ourselves off as a goa’uld. We have everything we need to do so, should the need arise. I hope it will not—Goibniu is unlikely to respond well to a strange goa'uld in his new hideout.”

“If it weren’t for you, we wouldn't have that risk in the first place.”

“If it weren’t for me, Jack…” She does not finish her sentence, but she doesn’t need to. Silence descends on the room. They all know where Carter would be without Cairin. 

Cairin continues, her voice cold and quiet. “Goibniu is the reason that we are all here now. We should focus on the task at hand.”

 

************

 

Daniel takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes and yawns. "Oh my god, I'm so tired," he groans.

Teal'c looks up from the paper he is studying. "Then I suggest that you sleep, Daniel Jackson."

Colonel O'Neill, who has been reclining with his feet on the desk, eyes half closed and a yo-yo spinning from his fingers, sits upright, swinging his feet to the floor. "I think it's time for all of us to hit the hay. Briefing at 1000 tomorrow.” He glances at his watch. "Make that today. Get some rest."

Dylan looks around at the detritus in Daniel's office. The table is covered with scattered papers, empty coffee cups and take-out boxes. Sam said Cairin refused to eat any more commissary food so Dylan had been sent out for Chinese. "Should I clean some of this up Daniel?"

Daniel stands, swaying slightly, and shakes his head. "No," he yawns again. "It's been worse. I'll deal with it when we get back." He staggers from the room.

Teal'c carefully puts his papers away in a folder, meticulous as always, and stands. "Rest well," he says, bowing as he, too, leaves.

Sam is still working away, her fingers tap-dancing across the keyboard, apparently oblivious to the exit of the two men. Dylan gathers his jacket as Colonel O'Neill clears his throat.

"That means you, too, Carter."

She doesn't answer.

He walks over to her and places a hand on the top of the laptop, as if he is about to close it.

"That's enough, Carter," he says. His voice is soft, but there's a sharpness to the words which makes it clear he means it as a command.

Sam waves a hand at him, but goes on typing. “I just want to get this finished…”

The colonel snaps, “Carter!” 

Sam looks up, her eyes blazing. “I'm not under your command now, Jack! And I don't need to rest. Cairin’s taking care of it.”

“Oh, she is, is she?” 

“Yes.” She slams the lid of the laptop down and yanks out the power lead. “But if it makes you happier, I'll finish this in my quarters.”

Hauling the laptop with her, she stands and pushes past the colonel, who makes no move to stop her. He opens his mouth, but closes it again, swallowing whatever words he thought about saying. As Sam brushes past Dylan he remembers that he is supposed to be leaving too; their exchange had him rooted to the spot. He murmurs a goodbye to the motionless colonel and hurries after Sam, checking in his pocket for his car keys.

"Um, walk you to the elevators, Sam?" he asks as he catches her up. 

Her stride falters and she offers him a tiny smile. “Sorry about that.” 

“No need to be sorry.”

“It's just…” she begins. Then she shakes her head, drawing a quick breath, and leaves the rest of her thought unspoken.

“I get it,” he says, quietly. And he does, or he would, but he's deliberately choosing not to put two and two together. Not right now, not on his own. 

“This mission means a lot to me.”

“It means a lot to everyone, Sam.” Dylan jerks his head towards Daniel's office. “To him, too.” 

“You don't have to apologise for him,” she says as they reach the elevator, looking back down the corridor.

“You're always meant to have your CO's back, isn't that right?”

Sam purses her lips, stopping herself from admitting the inevitable truth. After a moment she looks away, the laptop hugged to her chest. “You do it almost without question,” she replies, softly.

Dylan reaches out to touch her arm. She looks up. 

“We've got yours, too.”

She shakes his hand away to stroke the back of her neck. He's noticed her make that gesture a lot over the last couple of days.

The elevator dings as it arrives. "So, I'll see you in a few hours."

She looks confused. "Are you leaving the base?"

"Yeah, but don't worry, I'll be back."

She nods briefly, then smiles. "Cairin says to drive safely."

He backs into the elevator and tips her a grin and a half-salute as the doors slide closed.

 


	21. Removing my doubts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience in waiting for this! This chapter was a really hard one to get right, which seems odd because it's really short and nothing happens. I think I've got it right now, only because NellieOleson is fantastic and taught me to love the delete button.
> 
> Thanks also to supplyship, professortennant and NiceHatGeorgia for your encouragement and help with various tedious details of the last chapter and this one. Your generosity and depth of knowledge astounds me.

For what feels like the hundredth time since they entered the locker room, Daniel draws a deep breath and shoots another furtive look at Colonel O'Neill. The rest of the team continue to pretend they can't see the signs that Daniel wants to start an argument. It will come sooner or later. Waiting for it has them all on edge.

Dylan hears another intake of breath as he's zipping up his tac vest. He turns to see Daniel, his black bandana in his hand, facing Jack from the other side of the bench.

_Here we go. Brace for impact._

"So, Jack, are you OK with this mission?"

The colonel is shrugging on his jacket, not looking at Daniel. "If I wasn't, we wouldn't be going." His voice is light, but he's not fooling anyone. They can see the shadows in his eyes. 

"All right," Daniel drags the words out. "What I really meant was, are you going to be OK with Sam?"

At Sam's name, the colonel drops his pretense at carelessness. The room falls silent as Daniel and Colonel O'Neill watch each other with poker faces, each waiting for the other to show their hand. 

Daniel folds first. 

“We've all noticed it, Jack. You're not acting like you used to around her.”

"I don't know if you’ve noticed, Daniel, but she isn't who she used to be."

"No, she's not."

The colonel's patience is wearing thin. "What are you saying, Daniel? Because if you don't make your point soon, so help me..." 

"I want to know if there's going to be a problem out there, Jack,” Daniel says seriously. “ I don't know what's up between you and Sam but whatever it is, you need to sort it out. You cannot screw up this mission just because you hate that Sam is a Tok'ra now."

Dylan expects Colonel O'Neill to tear into Daniel, to order him to keep his mouth shut, but he doesn't. Instead, the colonel turns back to his locker, his face hidden, holding his tac vest in both hands. Dylan can just see him clenching and unclenching his fingers on the thick fabric.

Still without replying, the colonel moves. He slides his arms into his vest and zips it up carefully. He pats the pockets. He tugs at the hem and runs his fingers under the shoulder straps. When his vest and jacket have been meticulously adjusted, he heads for the door. He takes hold of the door handle, but then he stops. 

"I will not screw up this mission, Daniel,” he says, his voice tightly controlled. “There will be no problem out there."

Daniel flinches as the door slams shut. "Fuck.”

Teal'c lays a hand on his shoulder. "O'Neill will not put any of us in danger, Daniel Jackson."

The look they share is heavy with everything that hasn't been said.

"The thing is, Teal'c," Daniel says, "It's not us I'm worried about."

They finish gearing up in silence. Daniel ties on his bandana and closes his locker carefully.

"See you in the gateroom."

Dylan looks up from the bench where he is relacing his boot. Teal’c is facing away from him, loading the pockets of his vest.

"So, you and Daniel think he's been acting weird too, huh?"

Teal'c turns slightly, inviting Dylan to continue.

"I thought I was seeing something that wasn't there. That maybe I didn't know better."

Teal'c turns fully, ready to go, checking the tretonin supply in his pocket. "No, you are correct,” he says. “We are not as we were. Samantha Carter has changed since her blending." 

"Were she and Colonel O'Neill..."

He can't believe he just said that out loud. But it’s been going round and round his head for the last forty-eight hours and the words made a break for freedom while his mouth was unguarded.

Teal'c regards him, his face unreadable. "No, they were not,” he says, finally. “But whatever choices they made in the past—whatever choices they did not make—when Samantha Carter was Tethered, any choice they may have had was taken away."

Picking up the rest of his gear, he too heads for the gate room, leaving Dylan to puzzle out the meaning of his words.

 

************

 

Jack strides towards the gateroom wearing a black mood to match his black BDUs.

_Fucking Daniel and his fucking need to fix everything._

His fists clench by his sides and a couple of technicians scatter out of his way as he rounds the corner. He almost walks into the blast doors because they take too damn long to open. Then he slams his back against the wall below the control room window and rips off his beanie.

He scrunches the hat into a ball and his arm tenses to hurl it away from him as far as he can. It won't be very far—he has some understanding of aerodynamics, after all—but then he stops and smooths it out over his thigh. His behaviour has already attracted too much attention. No need to add to the gossip. It sounds like his team is already doing enough talking behind his back.

He doesn't need Daniel to remind him how much he's lost. Every corner of his existence is darker without Carter's presence, and though he'd hoped the light would return with her, he is acutely aware that it hasn't.

He knew the moment he saw her, days ago, that she wasn't the Carter he knew. And the more time he spent with her the more different she seemed. She faced him down over the mission planning. She assigned her own team without regard for his command. Then, last night, she lost her cool with him—she’d never done that before.

She'd asked for their help, but all she’d really needed from him was the extra manpower. If he was honest with himself, that was how it had always been. Carter came up with the crazy ideas and he carried them out.

But back then she would have looked to him with a question in her eyes, asking him without words if her plan would work. They both knew he probably wouldn't understand more than half of what she'd said, but his approval was important to her. So he'd give her the nod and it was like he'd lit a fuse inside her.

It was phenomenal, having someone with a mind as brilliant as Carter’s rely on him. It made him feel like he could be brilliant, too. 

Over the last few days he kept waiting for her to throw him that look, the one that asked, ‘Do I have the go ahead, sir?’ It never came. Instead, he watched her turn inwards. She looked to her symbiote for reassurance now.

The realization sends his mind into a nosedive. All this time, he liked to think that Carter needed him. Now he knows that really, he needed her. He'd been thinking that Cairin had changed who Carter was, but maybe all that's changed about her is that Jack is no longer the most influential person in her life.

Frantically trying to level his thoughts out, Jack glances around the gate room. Carter hasn't shown up yet, but the rest of his team have slunk in and are standing off to his left. The armorer is hovering near him, waiting to hand him his weapon. Jack pushes off the wall and takes the P-90 from him just as the blast doors open.

Carter strides in. She’s wearing skin-tight black leather. Her arms are bare and the neckline on her shirt is just low enough to show some cleavage. A gold band wraps around her bicep and there's a ribbon device on her left hand. Her hair is mussed and wild, and her eyes are outlined in black.

She told them she might have to pass as a goa'uld in case she was intercepted, but at the time he hadn’t really given it much thought. Now he knows what she meant. 

From somewhere behind him comes a wolf-whistle. He spins around, but not fast enough to catch which blank-faced guard it came from. He does, however, witness Jones smack a gaping Daniel on the back of his head.

He knew there was a reason he liked Jones. 

Carter doesn't slow her speed as she nears him; instead she heads for the rest of SG-1. He puts himself into her path before he can even consider the risk. For a split second he worries that she'll just walk straight over him but she stops, raising an eyebrow at his tactic. 

He clears his throat. “Carter, I wanted to say…” Under her unforgiving stare he hesitates. He doesn't know what he wants to say. He just needs to connect with her again. 

“...to say I'm sorry.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “For what, exactly?” 

He's not sure. But he has to keep talking. “For—” 

“For being an asshole?” 

He winces, his gaze falling away from her face. “Yeah.”

He studies the floor and the toe of his boot, and waits. She doesn't move so he risks another glance at her face. The hurt in her eyes kills him more completely than the murderous look she wore a moment ago.

“I could have asked any team.” Her voice is cold. 

“I know.”

“But I wanted SG-1. I wanted people I could trust. Can I trust you, Jack?”

“Yes!” he almost shouts. Lowering his voice, he repeats, “God, Carter, _yes_.”

It never occurred to him that she might be questioning his loyalty, even though he’s spent the last few days questioning hers. But what else was she supposed to think? She came here for their help, and he has begrudged every second of it.

Not now. He owes it to her, to everything they've ever been through together, to put his feelings aside and do the best damn job he can.

“We've got this, Carter. We're going to get him for you.”

“And for Cairin,” she continues. “And the Aithsken. This isn't just about me, Jack.”

For once, she's wrong. For him this is all about her. But he knows that for her none of this is about him.

The stargate rumbles into life and she turns to watch it spin. Jack watches her, still searching for a trace of the old Carter. Everything he can see looks wrong, including the metal ribbon wrapping around her wrist. 

The first chevron locks. He reaches out and taps the back of the hand device with his finger.

"As I recall, you don't like using this much."

Carter lifts her hand, turning it over to view the crystal on the palm, which starts to glow slightly under her scrutiny.

"No," she replies. "Neither does Cairin. I've got better at it though. We've been practising."

“Of course you have,” Jack nods, a tiny flicker of light beginning to brighten the darkness of his mind. At least one thing hasn't changed. Carter would never let her own discomfort stop her from being the best at what she has to do. 

She turns back to him, something softer in her expression. "She hates it, you know." Her voice is low, like she’s sharing a secret.

Jack doesn’t need to ask who ‘she’ is. "Hates what?"

"Doing what the Tok'ra do. Lying, killing, ordering others to kill…” She touches the back of her neck. “It's not who she is. She builds. She doesn't want to destroy.”

Jack risks a half-smile. “Like you, then.”

She doesn’t return his smile, but bites her lip, her gaze sliding away from him. “Maybe after this I'll feel like building something again,” she says, so quietly he’s not sure whether she meant to say it out loud.

He watches her, waiting for her to continue, but her eyes are on the gate and her thoughts are far away. He wants to reach out and touch her, smooth away the frown on her forehead, wrap his fingers around her arm to ground her here with him. Instead he wraps his fingers around the grip on his weapon.

The sixth chevron locks. Jack’s thoughts snap back to the mission. 

“Watch your back out there, Carter,” he says quickly, feeling anxiety rising even as he tries to keep his voice calm. She and Cairin won’t be in radio contact; against his advice they decided not to wear one. Although he can’t see anywhere on that outfit she could conceal it. “You know what Jaffa do to Tok'ra operatives.”

"I'll have Teal'c with me. And it's not like I'm defenseless.” Finally— _finally_ —she smiles. “I've even got a knife in my boot. Cairin thinks it's hilarious."

The last chevron locks and the vortex erupts. Just as Jack sees the light from the event horizon reflecting in Carter's eyes, her head drops. When she looks back at him, Cairin is in control. 

She reaches out with the hand wearing the ribbon device. Her gold fingertips are cold on his wrist. Startled, he looks down, but she doesn't let go until he has followed the pale crescent of her arm up to her face, intent on his. "I will look after her, Jack.”

_She doesn't need me anymore._

_But I need her._

His voice is thick as he replies, “Make sure that you do.”

She smiles kindly, like she knows exactly what he's thinking and sympathises. It's the most un-Tok'ra-like expression he's ever seen from a snake, even one wearing Carter's face.

She turns to the others, businesslike. "Alright, gentlemen, it is time to go."

Gesturing them forward to the bottom of the ramp she says, "Teal'c, you and I won't be affected by the shockwave on the other side. I hope that the shield from the ribbon device will deflect it, so I need Jack, Daniel and Dylan to stand close enough to me to be contained within it."

"What if the shield doesn't deflect the shockwave?" Jack asks, shaking off his reverie. 

Cairin grins smugly at him. That's an expression he recognises. "Then Teal'c and I will carry you three to a safe hiding place and tuck you in for a nice little nap."

Daniel snickers. 

Jack isn't close enough to Daniel to give him another smack, so he ignores him. "Hey, can we please talk with Carter?” he demands from Cairin. “At least she's not a smart ass.”

Cairin gives a short laugh. "She's not a smart ass out loud, Jack, or at least, not to your face."

This time it's Jones who snorts.

"As you were, Captain." Jack's tone is sharp and it wipes the smirk from Jones' face. 

"I believe it is time to proceed, O'Neill." Teal'c intones. Jack narrows his eyes at Teal'c, but he doesn't think the Jaffa is making fun of him.

General Hammond’s voice echoes down to them. 

"Godspeed, SG-1."

Jack looks back up at the control room window. Hammond stands in the control room, just like always. His shirt gleams in the darkness, reflecting the light from the stargate, but his face is in shadow. Jack salutes. He might not be superstitious, but this is a ritual he understands.

Teal'c and Cairin lead the rest of the team up the ramp. In front of the event horizon, Cairin stops, looking over her shoulder. 

"Close, please, gentlemen."

Jack stands directly behind her, Daniel just behind her right shoulder, Jones behind her left. 

"On three, we move out," she orders. "One. Two. Three."

They step forward into the waiting wormhole.

 


	22. My feet on the ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thanks to Nellie for telling me to make it better.

As Cairin had planned, it’s just before sunset on Aithskell. Warm light slices into the clearing in which the stargate stands, brighter by far than the event horizon, hopefully camouflaging their arrival. When she feels her entourage materialise behind her, Cairin activates her shield. It flares to life around them and the three men shuffle slightly closer. Jack's breath is warm on the back of her neck.

The dull explosion of the shockwave echoes around them, but they remain unharmed within the shield. Cairin exhales a tiny sigh of relief.

‘Nice one, Cairin,’ Sam comments. They had argued long and hard about whether the shield would protect SG-1. In the end, Cairin had forced Sam to concede to her logic, that Goibniu must have a way to protect his human slaves from being knocked unconscious every time they approached the stargate.

Cairin lowers her hands. "Let us hope that is still the only weapon at the gate,” she says to the rest of the team. 

“And that no-one saw us arrive,” Jack mutters as he scans the treeline, his weapon ready.

Cairin leads them into the darkening woods, away from the direction of the village, mine and stronghold. About a quarter of a mile into the trees, the ground drops away in a series of terraces down to a swiftly-flowing stream. The remains of walls project from the banks, and here and there mossy steps allow them to descend. In a small clearing, littered with the more substantial remains of a group of buildings, Cairin stops.

"We'll wait here for Claris, or some of her people. I told her to meet us here when we returned."

"Teal'c, Jones, perimeter," Jack orders immediately. 

Teal'c jumps across the water and begins to find his way up the terraces on the opposite bank. Dylan continues a few paces downstream before veering back in the direction of the stargate. Daniel pokes about the ruins, pulling lichen away from the walls and running his hands over the contours of the stones beneath. Jack hauls him away by his pack.

"Leave the archaeology for another day, Daniel."

Daniel gives the ruins one last look. "What was this place?" he asks Cairin, unable to completely contain his curiosity. 

"A watermill," she replies offhand, but her attention is not on Daniel or the ruins. She turns slowly on the spot, waiting for any sign that the Aithsken are aware of their arrival.

Jack ambles around the clearing, kicking at the occasional loose stone, casually inspecting the surrounding trees. Cairin is not fooled by his careful nonchalance. He's on high alert, just as she is, and he proves it when he suddenly raises his weapon, training it on the place where the stream re-enters the woods. Cairin looks around and a few moments later Claris appears, flanked by two men. Dylan follows them, his weapon held ready. 

"She said Cairin would know her, sir," Dylan explains, nodding towards Claris. The Aithsken fighters are all holding out their empty hands and looking warily at Jack, who hasn't lowered his P-90. Cairin hurries to them, positioning herself between Jack and her friend, and takes Claris' hands. She kisses her cheeks lightly.

"Claris," she says, "This is Sam's team. They have fought and prevailed over many of the goa'uld and are here to help us free your people."

Claris looks towards Jack, who has lowered his gun by a fraction. "Thank you," she says.

Cairin rushes ahead with the introductions. "Claris, this is Colonel Jack O'Neill, the leader of SG-1." He nods. "Captain Dylan Jones. Doctor Daniel Jackson." Daniel joins the group, shouldering his pack. "And Teal'c of Chulak,” she finishes, as Teal'c appears out of the shadows behind her. 

“He is a Jaffa,” one of the men says, fear and anger in his voice. Cairin senses the rest of SG-1 stiffen, including Sam. 

Cairin corrects the man, “He is a very dear friend.”

Claris puts a hand on the man's arm. “Cairin would not have brought him if he was not. I trust whom she trusts.” Her voice and the tilt of her head carry authority, and he relaxes a little, although the wariness does not leave his eyes. 

Claris turns back to face Cairin and SG-1. "This is Patri,” she indicates the man who had confronted Teal’c, “and this is Bron. Everyone is ready, but as we did not know exactly when you would come, it will take some time to gather them."

"There is no need to worry," Cairin interrupts. "There will be time."

She glances over her shoulder towards Jack, giving him the chance to step in and take over briefing the Aithsken. He doesn’t. Instead, he raises an eyebrow at the rest of SG-1 and they automatically and silently take up defensive positions around the clearing. Cairin feels a swell of pride from Sam and only just stops herself from mirroring them, the habit of moving with her team so ingrained in Sam it is an automatic reaction. 

Cairin fights the muscle memory and concentrates on bringing the Aithsken up to speed. The faces around her are set, but not afraid. They have probably been preparing themselves for this since Goibniu began stealing their resources and enslaving their people.

"Jack, Daniel and Dylan will make their way to the stronghold. Teal'c and I will proceed straight to the mine to free the men there. We will need a small group to meet us at the mine but the remainder of your forces should converge on the stronghold. As soon as SG-1 are inside, we will need you to enter the outer bailey and round up the Jaffa. This is not without its risks — they are extremely strong and equipped with weapons that are far more powerful than yours. However, the element of surprise should be on your side. Use it to your advantage."

She unhooks her zat from the holster and shows it to them. "We have brought some of these for you. If you fire only once, the subject will be rendered unconscious so you will have time to restrain them. A second shot will kill them, so do not shoot twice unless absolutely necessary."

Patri bares his teeth slightly; Cairin wonders if any of the Jaffa he 'captures' will live to see the sun rise. She fixes him with a stare. "The Jaffa follow Goibniu's orders because they know no better," she tells him firmly. "They will be given the chance to renounce their allegiance and serve their penance once this is all over."

Dylan gives a zat to each of the Aithsken. The clearing is soon resounding with the noise of the weapons opening and shutting, and a tree is suddenly surrounded by the familiar blue light as they test their new arms. The commotion disturbs a bird roosting overhead. It settles itself again with a staccato fluttering of its wings. Cairin looks up into the canopy, only just registering the deepening shade. "We have stayed here long enough," she says to Jack. "If we are to use the night well we must make our way now."

Claris turns to her comrades. "Bron, you go to the stronghold." The taller man nods quickly. "Patri, you return to the camp and raise the alert. Send six people to the mine and runners to all the outlying hideouts. Tell everyone else to join you at the stronghold."

Patri slings his bow across his wiry frame and looks bemusedly at the zat for a moment or two before hooking it to his bow strap.

Daniel hands each Aithsken a radio. "Here, take these too.” Patri adds his to his bow strap. Bron tucks his into his belt and Claris does the same.

Jack looks around. "Everyone know what they have to do? Any questions?"

Patri shakes his head, then waits a beat or two before dodging off through the trees.

“Bron, is it?” Jack asks, offering a hand. “Jack O'Neill, SG-1. Glad to have you on board.” He gestures at the trees. “After you.”

Bron and Claris clasp each other's shoulders in mute farewell, and then Bron heads off with Daniel and Dylan behind him. 

"Claris, you lead the way,” Cairin says to her friend. Claris nods and begins to pick her way upstream along the riverbank, with Teal’c trailing after her.

Cairin knows she should follow Teal'c, but Sam's reluctance to leave without speaking to Jack is like an invisible wall in front of her. She turns around, handing over control.

"Jack?"

He’s started to climb up the terraces but Sam’s voice acts on him like a rope, arresting his progress and tugging him back towards her.

There are a hundred things Sam wants to say but it's all just a jumble of feelings and half-finished thoughts, nothing coherent enough to actually speak. Jack waits patiently. Sam’s silence is as full of meaning for him as his half-sentences are for her. Cairin marvels that two people so adept at translating the unspoken can also communicate so poorly.

Finally, Sam speaks. “Good luck.”

“You too, Carter."

In the tangle of Sam’s emotions, one thread is strongest. Relief. Relief that after their exchange in the gate room they finally seem to be speaking the same language again. That she can let the night and the location and the rising adrenaline say what she can’t find the words for.

As if he has heard everything she hasn’t said, Jack nods. He starts to walk away, but again Sam’s voice calls him back.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?" His reply is quick, like he's reluctant to leave. 

"Watch your six," she says softly.

He gives her a half-smile. "Always do, Carter, always do." He takes a step backwards, then he turns into the trees and is gone.

Sam hands control back to Cairin and then retreats into her own mind, like a child folding themselves into a corner, their arms wrapped around their knees.

Cairin stares at the place where Jack had been standing, forgetful of the mission as her mind races. As much as she'd wanted to seize control and pour out to Jack everything that Sam was thinking and feeling, she knew she couldn't. This wasn't the time or the place. And she isn't the right person to meddle, if anyone was ever allowed to meddle in such matters.

A frowning thought from Sam jolts Cairin out of her reverie and she hurries to follow the path Claris and Teal’c took upriver. As she walks, she casts affection around Sam like an arm around her shoulders.

‘You will have your chance to talk with him, Sam,’ Cairin says, ‘when this is all over.’

‘When this is all over,’ Sam repeats, as if she can't quite believe that this will ever be over. ‘When Goibniu is captured, the Aithsken are free, and the Tethers are destroyed.’

‘Yes,’ Cairin assures her. ‘Then, and after.’

 

************

 

The woods are hushed, and Jack’s team moves quickly and almost silently across the springy ground. By Cairin’s calculation it should take them about ninety minutes to reach the stronghold, although Jack wouldn’t be surprised if they’re faster than she allowed. It will take an extra forty-five minutes for Carter and Teal'c to make it to the mine. Jack's going to have a lot of time to kill.

They'll have to wait for the Aithsken reinforcements before his team can move in, and this part of the plan is putting Jack on edge. Gathering all of the Aithsken forces in one place, right outside the Jaffa garrison, will significantly increase the chances that their position will be compromised. It will be hard to keep a couple hundred men and women from being heard or seen by any of the Jaffa guards. 

At least Bron seems pretty capable. He's more than skilled at navigating these woods in the dark, and the way he's handling his crossbow reminds Jack of Carter and her P-90. If the others are the same that'll be one less thing for Jack to worry about.

Night has fully fallen by the time they reach the stronghold. In the darkness, Jack is aware of every sound they make — Bron brushing past a branch, SG-1's labored breathing. The air must be thinner here. Eventually he detects the smell of woodsmoke, and shortly afterwards the darkness is relieved by a faint orange glow. When the trees begin to thin, Bron slows his pace and veers off course, taking them to where the woods skirt closer to the complex.

As they come to a halt, Jack keys his radio. 

“Come in, Teal'c.”

Teal'c takes a few seconds to reply. “I am here, O'Neill.”

“We've arrived at the stronghold. What's your position?” 

“We are still on our way to the mine. We will apprise you when we arrive.”

“Roger, Teal'c. O'Neill out.”

Jack studies the structure. Tents are visible through the gaps in the walls, illuminated by cookfires, but there isn't a lot of movement inside. The only Jaffa Jack can see are the guards at the entrance—an eight-foot wide space between two mostly-intact narrow towers. Two Jaffa stand within the opening, two more on the outside of the walls. 

He considers the options. If the outer guards could be dispatched quietly their bodies might not draw the attention of the two within the opening, but then they'd have to draw the others out. Anything happening in the doorway would have the potential to be seen by those inside the camp, so whatever they do will have to happen outside—

As if Jones is reading his thoughts, he edges closer and mutters, "Any thoughts on a distraction, sir?"

Jack looks towards Bron, who is glaring at the guards, the hatred on his face clearly visible in the muted orange of the reflected firelight. The answer to the conundrum begins to materialise in his mind.

"I think we might have a volunteer." 

Jack relays his plan to Jones, who passes it on to Daniel while Jack sets out to persuade Bron. It’s not difficult. Bron seems pretty happy with a plan which involves shooting at the Jaffa, even if he's meant to miss. Unfortunately, they can't put it into action until the Aithsken reinforcements arrive. There won't be much time between SG-1 entering the stronghold and the Jaffa realising that something is up, so they'll need everyone to be in place. 

Jack is so keyed up by the wait that he has to force himself to take his hand off his weapon. The need for absolute silence precludes any fidgeting beyond repeatedly checking his watch and taking off his hat, scrunching it up and shoving it back on his head. He does this a few times before he catches a sideways look from Jones. After that he does his best to act less like a child and more like an Air Force colonel. Then he receives a sympathetic smile from Daniel like he knows how difficult it is for Jack to restrain himself.

After another compulsive watch-check—thirty-nine minutes—Teal’c radios in to tell him they’ve arrived at the mine and are assessing their options.

He can’t help himself asking, “Carter keeping out of trouble?”

“There has been no trouble in which we could engage, O'Neill.” Jack can almost hear Teal’c’s raised eyebrow.

“See that you keep it that way. O’Neill out.”

At least Jack's doubts about the Aithsken fighting force are put to rest when the first of them arrive, advancing from between the trees like a deadly tide. The vanguard are apprised of the plan, and the whisper spreads like a ripple as each new group joins them. When Bron estimates that around eighty have gathered, Jack motions for everyone to get into position.

He unholsters his zat and adjusts his grip around the familiar contours. He prefers his P-90, but the zat does stealth better. Apart from the unnecessary lightshow, of course, which they could do without in these conditions.

Well, you can't have everything, he thinks philosophically, as he gives the nod to Bron.

The Aithsken man makes a big show at the edge of the forest, firing off a couple of arrows which come close to hitting the Jaffa, before making a lot of noise and heading deeper into the forest. It has the desired effect; the two outer guards lope after him, into the trees. 

A few meters in, Jack and Jones have concealed themselves, with Daniel farther back as damage control. As soon as Jack is convinced that the Jaffa are well-hidden in the trees and out of earshot, he and Jones fire and the Jaffa collapse in a crackle of blue.

Eyes back on the gateway, Jack waits. The two remaining guards peer out into the night but remain stubbornly in position. Jack is beginning to doubt that they'll do anything as stupid as abandon their posts when one turns to the other, speaking a few short words.

"Wait for it…" he breathes.

Sure enough, the two Jaffa begin warily to follow the line their comrades had taken. When they reach the treeline, they too fall to the zats. 

As a couple of grim-faced Aithsken drag the Jaffa away, Jack's attention returns to the gateway, unguarded now, their entrance free and clear.

_So far, so good._

 

************

 

Claris leads Cairin and Teal'c unerringly towards the mine. The three assorted teammates—human, Jaffa and Tok'ra—travel in silence. Cairin picks up the faintest hiss of static from Teal'c's earpiece. She checks Sam's watch: the other team have arrived at the stronghold on schedule. She nods to herself, but her satisfaction is checked by Sam's wistful longing that they had a radio, too. 

‘You know why we couldn't, Sam.’

‘It's just—’ Contact. Backup. Safety.

‘It would not be safe for anyone if we were intercepted.’

A jolt of fear shoots through her as Sam imagines SG-1, captured, kneeling, with Tethers shining dully on the backs of their necks. Cairin counters this with an image taken from Sam’s own memory, of SG-1 standing defiant against an army of Jaffa, their weapons casting a ring of death. For such a gruesome picture, it is oddly comforting to Sam. She retreats once again, and Cairin continues to march on.

They make good time, and soon the escarpment looms palely up over them, its upper edge disappearing into the night. All is quiet in the camp, except for the voices of the four Jaffa lounging around the fire between the prisoners' tents and the entrance to the mine.

Teal’c touches his radio.

“O’Neill, we have arrived at the mine. There appear to be few Jaffa on guard but we must remove them before we can enter the mine itself.”

Cairin can’t hear Jack’s reply, but from Teal'c's low-voiced comment, she concludes that he is checking up on them. She and Sam feel a simultaneous wave of amusement and exasperation.

They turn their attention to the camp. The tents look larger now they are viewing them from the ground.

Cairin moves closer to Claris. "How many prisoners are there?" she asks.

Claris shakes her head. "I do not know the exact number. Twenty were taken from our village, but the Jaffa have been travelling to the other towns and farmsteads in their ships. There are certainly far more than twenty here."

'I want to see them,' Sam tells Cairin. She tries to explain without words that she needs to reassure them that help is here, that hopefully by morning they'll be free. After a moment’s consideration, Cairin assents.

‘It might be best to let at least some of them know what is going on so they are ready to run when the time comes,’ she agrees.

Teal'c keeps watch as Cairin and Claris run awkwardly, crouching, across the open ground to the rear of the tent positioned furthest from the mine. Cairin unsheathes the knife from her boot.

'See?' Sam’s thoughts are smug. 'I knew it would come in handy.'

Cairin hushes her and slices into the canvas.

She slips carefully through her makeshift doorway into the dim interior of the tent, closely followed by Claris. Inside, there is a tiny lamp burning, casting just enough light to be able to see the forms of several men, lying in a neat row down the centre of the space.

They two women kneel down next to one of the motionless bodies and Cairin cedes control to Sam.

She touches the man's shoulder. He doesn't stir so she shakes gently. His eyes snap open. He looks terrified and confused. Sam lays a gentle hand on the man's cheek, his beard wiry beneath her fingers.

"It's OK," she whispers. "Don't be afraid. We've come to get you out." His gaze becomes less intense, although she has no way of knowing whether it is because he is reassured or hopeless. Was this how she had looked, just wide, unfathomable eyes in a slack-featured face?

She remembers Janet's method of communication.

"We're going to deactivate the Tethers. When they're deactivated, will you be able to walk immediately? Blink once for yes or twice for no."

He frowns for a moment, then blinks once.

"That's good. As soon as you can move, get everyone up, but don't move out of the compound. There will be people here to help. As soon as we can take the Tether off, get yourselves away from the tents as quickly as you can. Do you understand?"

He blinks again, once.

She smiles at him, hoping it is visible in the darkness. Her hand smooths down from his cheek to his shoulder and gives it a quick squeeze. She stands, and a second later Claris joins her.

"There are…” She peers around. “...eight in here. I counted fourteen tents." She waits for Claris to nod in agreement. "If they're all the same, that makes one hundred and twelve prisoners. Will you be able to get them to safety?"

"I will."

"Then—"

Sam stops abruptly at the sound of heavy footsteps pacing up the pathway between the tents. Sam motions for Claris to hide and darts to the side of the doorflap. Cairin pushes back into control. At the same moment, Teal'c's hushed, urgent voice can be heard over the radio on Claris' belt.

"Claris, Cairin, there is a Jaffa converging on your position."

Holding her breath, Cairin listens. The Jaffa is coming closer, each unhurried step marked by the crunch of gravel. Farther away, voices are raised in an argument. Louder than everything is the sound of her own thudding heartbeat. 

The footsteps stop outside the tent. 

 


	23. Holding my breath

Cairin waits, holding her breath, hoping the Jaffa will continue his patrol. But he doesn't move on. Instead, the door flap to the tent is thrown back and the Jaffa steps inside, a staff held ready in his hand. He stops only a foot away from Cairin, his eyes falling on the canvas of the back wall, and the black, incriminating tear.

"What—"

Before he has the chance to shout out, Cairin kicks him across the torso. He grunts in surprise and falls backwards, stumbling against the lamp, which clatters in its iron housing. Cairin kicks again and grabs her zat, but he lashes out with the staff weapon and knocks it from her hand. Using her momentum she swings a punch at his head and at the same time she raises her left hand, energy building in the ribbon device. 

He jabs the staff again and pain slices through her right bicep. She cries out in shock, twisting away. The ribbon device blazes and the Jaffa is blasted against the wall of the tent. The whole structure shakes, threatening to collapse. Cairin dives for her zat as shouts rise from the other Jaffa.

"Claris, get out and take cover. If anything happens to us, radio Jack and get to the stronghold as fast as you can. Go!"

Claris dives out of the back of the tent. Cairin exits through the front, towards the enemy, unwilling to tackle any more opponents in close confines, with the inert bodies of prisoners ready to trip them.

Two Jaffa are running towards her, silhouetted by the firelight. As they catch sight of her, they raise their staff weapons, but the thunk and crackle she is expecting to hear as they are cocked never comes. She fires quickly, ignoring the pain from her wound and the blood running down her arm. One Jaffa is felled by the zat blast but the other gets a shot off, the end of his staff pulsing white, not orange. An invisible force barrels into her left shoulder. She careens backwards, but before the Jaffa can fire again, a blue wave engulfs him and he collapses.

Teal'c steps out from the shadows, glancing down at the two unconscious figures, then another Jaffa appears in front of him, slashing and jabbing with his weapon. At the end of a wide swing, Teal'c grabs the staff and pushes backwards. The Jaffa stumbles, taking Teal'c with him, but Teal'c twists the staff at the last moment. His opponent is wrenched around, and Teal'c locks a muscular forearm around the Jaffa's throat. 

Cairin holsters her zat. “Thank you, Teal'c.” As fights go, that was nothing. Well, almost nothing, she amends, as she wraps a hand around the gash on her arm.

 

************

 

Jack runs out from the cover of the trees into the deeper shadow at the base of the wall. His back hits the rough stone, knocking the air out of his lungs. Edging sideways, he pushes his scope out for a look into the camp.

Then he hears Teal'c's warning to Cairin over the radio.

His instinct is to pull back, reassess their division of forces, retreat from one front in order to muster their strength at their weakest point.

That, and he's never been able to see Carter in danger without wanting to draw fire away from her.

He knows that part of her would be grateful for his assistance, but he also knows she'd tear him a new one if he jeopardized the mission just because she'd attracted a little Jaffa attention. Attention that she is perfectly capable of handling.

He takes a deep, calming breath and thinks positive thoughts. He imagines the look on her face as she downs her combatant, and he reminds himself that Teal'c is watching her six.

He extends the scope again. The Jaffa's tents are positioned away from the wall, leaving a ten-foot-wide gap between the crumbling stonework and canvas. There is a walkway the same width leading from the gate towards the entrance to the main structure. Jack can pick up some movement in and between the tents, but he can't see anyone directly. These Jaffa must be very cocky or maybe just very stupid; there's no proper security force visible anywhere.

Pocketing the scope, he turns to Jones. "We can go around the inside of the wall until we reach the main building. There are plenty of loose stones for cover. Jones, you take point. Daniel, you're in the middle."

Jones nods and brushes past Jack. He glances through the entrance to familiarize himself with the internal layout. Then he takes a deep breath and slinks around the corner, Daniel hot on his heels.

The wall must be a good six feet thick, and wider still at the gate to allow for the tower. Jack feels uncomfortably exposed as they move through the opening. Jones rounds the second corner and starts along the inner edge of the wall when he suddenly stiffens. The air around him turns a foggy red, crackling with static. 

"Shit," Daniel hisses, grabbing the back of Jones' pack and pulling him backwards. As Jones passes the edge of the tower the red light disappears and he collapses. Jack's hand joins Daniel's on his pack and they both drag him out of the gate and back into the shadow of the wall.

 

************

 

Cairin approaches the warrior struggling against Teal'c firm restraint.

The Jaffa's tattoo stands out starkly against his pale skin, an anvil and hammer. He watches her with anger and belligerence until her flashing eyes kindle a spark of fear in his own.

"The Tethers." Her voice is cold. "Where is the base unit?"

He remains silent. Teal'c's arm tightens around the man's throat.

"Tell me!" Cairin commands.

He flinches, but the corner of his mouth twists up in a defiant smile. He says nothing.

An image of the ribbon device crosses Sam's mind. She thinks of the times she has been where the Jaffa is now, remembers watching a Goa'uld raise its hand, the crystal glowing, thinks about how hard it was to resist spilling all her secrets just to make the pain stop.

‘No,’ Cairin snaps, dispelling the vision. 'I _will_ _not_.'

'I wasn't suggesting it,' Sam assures her. 

At the sound of running feet, Cairin spins around, raising her zat. It is the Aithsken backup arriving, Claris visible at the rear. The leader of the group sees the weapon pointed in her direction and skids to a stop, her hands held wide. Cairin lowers her weapon.

"There is a Jaffa in the farthest tent. Secure him," she orders, "and these." She gestures to the crumpled forms at her feet.

She looks up at Teal'c. "Bring him."

Teal'c hauls the struggling Jaffa towards the fire. In the brighter light, Cairin picks up one of the fallen staff weapons and studies it. It is lighter than the one she knows; an angled muzzle has replaced the bud-shaped head, with a narrow opening running lengthwise along the angle.

"Interesting," she says, conversationally. "I have not seen this before. One of Goibniu's new toys?"

The Jaffa strains against the arms holding him. "They were forged by my Lord Goibniu's hands and filled with his mighty breath," he boasts.

"His mighty breath," Cairin scoffs. "His breath is as feeble as a sick old man's."

She levels the staff at the fire and presses what she supposes to be the trigger. The fire explodes in sparks and embers as a ball of compressed air shoots from the tip. Like an airborne fist, she thinks, thinking of her still-aching shoulder. She presses the trigger again but, this time, holds her finger down. Instead of the ball of air, the metal buzzes beneath her fingers. She points the staff at the ground and, as if a blade had been drawn through the dirt, she leaves a narrow incision behind the weapon's tip.

‘Not so feeble, perhaps,’ she comments silently. 

Slowly, with as much menace as she can project, she presses the head of the staff against the Jaffa's throat.

"Will his mighty breath spare you?" she asks quietly. "Where is the base unit?"

To his credit, the Jaffa still refuses to reply, but his eyes flick towards the mine entrance. That's all Cairin needs. She takes a step backwards and motions to Teal'c for him to release the captive. As soon as Teal'c has moved away, she zats the Jaffa.

"Well, Teal'c," she says, lightly. "I believe what we seek is inside. Shall we?"

 

************

 

"What the hell was that?" Jack demands, as Jones drops to the grass. He peers through his scope again, checking for anyone inside who might have heard or seen them, but there's no outcry.

Behind him, Jones' breathing is harsh. He turns to see the captain on all fours, collecting himself before attempting to stand.

"You OK?" he asks, dropping to one knee beside Jones.

"Yes, sir," Jones gasps.

"What was that?"

"Don't know. I guess…some kind of energy field." He pushes himself into a kneeling position and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "It was like…" he struggles to find a description. "Like white noise. But hot. And getting hotter." He squints up at Daniel. "Thanks."

Daniel waves his gratitude away.

"You good to go?" Jack asks.

Jones nods. "Yes, sir. Just need a couple of seconds."

"A couple of seconds I can give you." Jack pats Jones' solid shoulder and stands up.

"Bron, Teal'c," he says into his radio, "there's an energy field inside the wall of the stronghold. Do not, I repeat, do not enter the space between the wall and the tents." 

Neither Bron nor Teal'c reply.

"Teal'c? Come in, Teal'c?"

A shiver runs down his spine. Has something happened at the mine?

A moment later comes Teal'c's voice, "I hear you, O'Neill."

Jack, snarky with relief, mutters to himself, "Roger, Teal'c. Roger. How hard can it be to say?" Into the radio, he says, "Copy that, Teal'c."

He waits for Bron's response. He hears a couple of clicks, as Bron acquaints himself with the transmit button, then, "Thank you, Colonel O'Neill." At least he can forgive the Aithsken for not knowing proper radio etiquette.

Jones stands. He sways slightly, then leans against the wall while Jack reassesses their strategy.

There's no other option. "We're just going to have to go straight up the middle." Daniel nods; Jones looks like his head is still unsteady. Jack continues, "I'll go first. Let me get halfway, then Daniel, you follow. Jones bring up the rear."

He thinks for a second, then speaks again into the radio. "Bron, we're going straight for the keep, but there's a pretty good chance someone's going to notice us. If you hear gunfire, I need you to mount a full-scale assault on the bailey. I repeat, hold your position unless you hear gunfire. Then get the hell in here.” Jack pauses, then adds, “Say 'Roger' if you understand and are prepared to carry out the order."

There's a pause, and then a slightly hesitant, "Roger."

Jack makes eye contact with each of his teammates in turn. He gives a sharp nod before he darts through the gate and into the camp.

 

************

 

The passage into the mine is just like any other mine on any other planet: rough-hewn walls and a treacherous floor leading down into black depths.

"I don't think we're going to have to go too far into the mine to find the base unit," Sam tells Teal'c. She's in control now; technology is her responsibility. "Unless there's a really strong amplifier, too thick a wall of stone would block the signal being sent to the Tethers."

Teal'c hands her the frequency analyzer. "I'm picking up something..." Sam mutters, holding up the analyzer. "Ah."

But Teal'c isn't listening to her. He cocks his head, eyes narrowed, as he tries to make out a message from the radio. Sam gestures back towards the entrance and he retreats along the passage. He listens for a moment longer, then replies briefly and rejoins her. 

She stops at a narrow opening in the stone wall, which leads into a small room lit by a single lamp. In the center of the room is a squared-off block of stone. On the stone stands a metal pillar which supports three circular platforms. Around the edge of the platforms are small indentations, lit by tiny blue lights. A few unused Tethers sit in the indentations, waiting for their victims. 

Sam tries to enter the room but a forceshield blocks the doorway. She looks for the usual control panel. There's one by her right shoulder, but instead of the six buttons she expects, there is a single metal plate. In the center is what looks like another Tether, except its domed surface is formed by a crystal.

Sam appeals to Cairin, 'What do we do with this?' 

'I have no idea.'

Sam frowns at the panel, her fingers tracing the edges of the crystal. 'If it weren't a crystal, it would look like a scanner,' she says slowly. 

‘Try the ribbon device,' Cairin suggests. 

Sam lifts her left hand and concentrates. The crystal on her palm glows with power but the one on the panel remains dark. 

Cairin curses. 

Sam glances back inside the room. As her eyes fall on the unused Tethers, a glimmer of an idea brightens her mind. ‘Cairin, did you notice if the Jaffa were wearing anything?’

‘Like a key?’

Sam turns to Teal'c, who is watching her closely, obviously aware of her conversation with Cairin, even though he can't hear it. “Would you mind asking one of our new friends to step in here?”

Teal'c bows. “I would be honored.”

While they wait, Cairin takes control. Her symphonic voice gives them an interrogative advantage that she intends to make use of.

“Thank you for joining us,” Cairin says sarcastically to the Jaffa as Teal'c drags him down the passage. She gestures to the doorway. “We need to enter this room.”

“I will show you nothing,” the Jaffa spits.

Cairin smiles at him. He is so young and so full of misplaced loyalty. “We don't need you to show us. We already know what we need.”

She walks around him, eyes searching. Everything appears to be just as she would expect. Then her inspecting gaze lights on his left cuff, on which is what looks like another Tether. 

“We'll take this,” she says, and tears it from his arm.

Fixing it to her own wrist, below the ends of the ribbon device, she waves it at the scanner. With a slight whoosh, the forceshield glows for a second and then disappears. Cairin enters the room. 

“Bring him too, if you would be so kind, Teal'c.”

Teal'c smiles faintly, and pushes the Jaffa into the room in front of him.

Cairin moves slowly round the quietly-humming device—the base unit—just as she had walked around the Jaffa, studying every inch, while consulting the frequency analyzer in her hand.

'At least we know which frequency activates the Tethers,' she remarks to Sam. 'Now we need to know which frequency deactivates them.'

'It could be any one of millions.'

'Just so.'

She stops and leans over the top of the device, where there is a circular console set with ten buttons.

'This must be where the frequency is set.'

'Looks like it.'

As Cairin stands back upright, her eyes fall on the Jaffa kneeling beside them.

"Jaffa," Cairin commands, "you will tell me how to deactivate the Tethers."

The Jaffa sneers at her. Teal'c tilts his head, asking for permission to interrogate further, but Cairin gives her head a tiny shake.

"A frequency must be entered here—" she says to the Jaffa, her hand hovering over the buttons, "—in order to send a new signal."

The Jaffa's face is completely blank. He doesn't look scornful, just stupid.

'Sam, I don't think he knows,' Cairin says thoughtfully. 

'We'll have to get another Jaffa in here. But we're running out of time.'

'No, that's not what I mean.'

Cairin looks more closely at the cuff. By the side of the Tether-like device nearest to the hand there is a tiny nick. The domed surface of the central dial is divided into three segments, each with a slightly different design etched into its surface. She raises one eyebrow, understanding dawning, and holds the frequency analyser up to the cuff. It displays the same frequency as that emitted by the base unit. Then she turns the device so that the nick on the cuff matches a different segment. 

The frequency emitted by the cuff changes.

Cairin hesitates. She could enter this frequency into the base unit, but she doesn't know exactly what it is the frequency for. For all she knows it is a frequency designed to kill all the prisoners. Carefully, she picks up one of the Tethers. She touches the cuff to the Tether but nothing happens. She turns the dial back to its original position and repeats the action, but still, nothing happens. 

'Cairin…' Sam's thought is faint, compressed by uncertainty and fear. 

Cairin tries to reassure her, but she also wants to keep herself as removed as she can from Sam as she makes this decision. She doesn't want Sam to bear any of the responsibility of this moral dilemma. She can't test the cuff on a prisoner in case she kills them. She can't put it on herself. So she slaps it on the neck of the Jaffa kneeling beside her.

The Jaffa collapses to the ground, the Tether latched securely into his flesh. The eyes of the young warrior are wide and terrified, rolling from side to side as he frantically searches for an impossible escape. Teal'c has said nothing. Cairin had no idea whether he approves of or abhors the decision she's made but this is not the time to find out. The only person whose opinion matters to the Tok'ra right now is Sam. Cairin sends an exploratory thought into Sam's mind and finds the shock she was expecting but also admiration. 

'I thought you would hate me for it,' she says to Sam in relief. 

Sam's reply has a detached quality which Cairin associates with her scientist's curiosity. 'We needed a test subject and he was the best you could find on short notice.'

Cairin hurries to test her hypothesis. She touches the cuff, with the dial in its original position, to the Tether on the Jaffa. Nothing happens. She looks back at its place on the base unit. The lights are now shining around its indentation and they are blue. She turns the dial and touches the Tether again. The lights on the base unit turn yellow. The Jaffa twitches and then scrambles to his feet—or tries to before Teal'c restrains him again. 

"You—you will pay for this," he says, but his threat is disarmed by the tremble in his voice.

"Now you know how they all feel," Cairin tells him. She turns the dial again, and, her heart in her mouth, touches the cuff to the Tether once more. 

The legs retract and it falls to the ground. 

Cairin and Sam heave a simultaneous sigh of relief. They turn the dial back once and check the numbers on the frequency analyser. 

'Are you sure?' Sam asks. 

'No,' Cairin admits. 'But we have to try.' 

With Sam's support enveloping her, she inputs the frequency into the base unit. Nothing happens instantly, but then slowly the lights fade through green to yellow and the humming dies away. 

The hush in the small room is broken by an growing roar of sound from the camp.

Cairin looks up at Teal'c, a triumphant smile on her face.

"Sounds like everyone has woken up."

Quickly, she turns the dial on the cuff and enters the new frequency into the base unit—Sam can't help but think of it as the 'eject' mode—but this time nothing happens. The lights stay yellow instead of blinking out. 

'Maybe it's only the cuff that can take them off,' Sam suggests. 

'We'll have to go and see.'

They exit the mine just as a mob of freed prisoners descend on the Jaffa, who are under guard, lined up against the cliff face. Claris has positioned herself between the Jaffa and the angry men but to Cairin she appears like a sapling in the path of a tidal wave.

Cairin hurls herself in front of Claris. "Stop!" she yells, her eyes flashing gold. It’s enough of a shock to check the momentum of the wave of men and she shouts again into the brief lull.

“Stop! These Jaffa are not the ones responsible for this,” she gestures around her, at the angry Aithsken, the tents, the mine. “They are soldiers. They are following the commands of someone they think is a god. You cannot blame them for this.”

One man surges forward, brandishing a metal rod, “Who are you to defend them?”

Claris and another of the fighters block his path. “This is Cairin of the Tok’ra,” Claris says loudly, and the man starts at the name. “You have heard of her. I am glad. Hear her now.” Claris glances back to Cairin.

‘Cairin, let me speak to them,’ Sam pleads. She feels Cairin hand over control and lifts her voice over the noise of the crowd.

“My name is Sam. I am Cairin’s host. And I have been where you are. I had one of those things put on me too.”

She ignores Claris’ sharp look and concentrates all her attention on the men before her.

“I know what you have been through. I know what you felt because I felt it too. But I don’t blame them—” she points at the bound Jaffa, “—I know that they are victims too. My friends and I are here to find the person who is responsible. But this is wasting our time.”

She lets her gaze settle on the man with the metal rod. After a few tense seconds, he drops his makeshift weapon. As Claris and the other woman remove their hands from his shoulders, he drops to his knees, and buries his face in his hands.

Sam kneels in front of him and puts a hand on his arm. “We've worked out how to take the Tether off—"

"Get it off me," he interrupts, his voice hoarse. "Please." 

Sam smiles, and turns the dial on the cuff. She feels the slight click as it aligns, and then touches it to the Tether on the man’s neck. Instantly it releases its grip on his neck and tumbles to the dirt. 

“What’s your name?” Sam asks the man. 

“Alessan.”

Alessan twists his hands together, before reaching hesitantly towards the device. He prods it with one finger. It rocks back and forth on its rounded surface, inert, almost innocent. Then he looks up at Sam, tears shining on his grimy, haggard face.

“Thank you.”

Sam smiles again. She takes off the cuff and hands it to him. “Go and free your people, Alessan.”

He hauls himself to his feet, a look of satisfaction on his face, and snaps the cuff to his own wrist. As he begins ordering the other prisoners into a line, Sam turns to the woman standing with Claris. She explains how the cuff works. 

“The other Jaffa have more. You can get started on the others."

The woman gives Sam’s shoulder a quick squeeze as she brushes past.

Sam looks up to see Claris regarding her intently. Before she can ask any questions, Sam asks her own. “Do you think the Jaffa will be safe?"

Claris considers the question, mentally sizing up each of the fighters guarding the sullen Jaffa. Eventually, she responds, “Yes. I believe they will be.”

“Good. We need to get going. Are you ready?"

"I am."

"Lead the way."

Claris gives a short nod to the woman now helping to remove the Tethers. There is a pile of them at her feet. The woman nods back and touches a hand to her heart in what looks like a salute. Claris returns the gesture before setting off down the track, Sam behind her, with Teal'c bringing up the rear. 

"Have you heard from the others?" Sam asks Teal'c as they descend the slope

There's just a hint of a pause before Teal'c replies. "I have. There is an energy field inside the walls which O'Neill wished to alert us to. He also alerted the Aithsken forces to be ready to enter the stronghold."

"So they're through the bailey? That's good. And we're not too far behind them." She checks her watch. "We should go faster."

But then she stops, realization hitting her.

"Shit, the tel'taks.” She looks up at Teal’c, feeling panic rising. “I know there's no rings on the planet, but we can't risk Goibniu escaping in a ship." She calls to the woman in front. "Claris, how far to where the ships are?"

Claris stops, looking back over her shoulder. "They are on the hill above the stronghold."

Sam checks her watch again and does some quick calculations, but it doesn't matter anyway. They'll have to make the time. She turns to the others. 

"Who's ready for a quick detour?"

 

************

 

Jack runs to the nearest tent. He stops and listens, checking the walkways on the other side. Then he runs for the new gap. Zig-zagging his way across the path he makes it halfway. He checks behind him to see Daniel imitating his movements.

Sudden voices close by have Jack spinning round and diving behind the nearest tent. He crouches out of sight, his heart pounding. Two Jaffa exit the tent across from him and walk up towards the stronghold. He risks peering round to watch their progress. Sure enough, they disappear into the keep's black doorway.

He holds his position a moment longer, waiting to see if anyone comes back out, but the entrance remains void.

"Jack?" Daniel appears next to him.

"Couple of Jaffa went inside. Definitely going to have company in there."

"It's only twenty meters. Do we wait for Dylan and make a run for it?"

Jack considers this option. There's so many unknowns. They could run into a room full of Jaffa, with another hundred—give or take—just a few feet outside. That would end in a firefight with the odds stacked very much against them. They could run up to the keep to scope it out but there's no guarantee that they'll find decent cover. Same outcome.

"I guess so," Jack concludes, less than happy with his choices. "We'll wait for Jones. But I'm calling in the cavalry now. At least then there'll be a distraction."

Peering back towards the gate, he sees Jones cover the last few meters and stop behind Daniel. Jack's appraising eye takes in his normal color and sharp movements. He seems to have recovered from whatever that energy field did to him.

Jack speaks quietly and distinctly into the radio. "Bron, you have a go. Enter the bailey, quietly, as soon as you can. When you're in position, we're going to make a run for the keep."

Bron’s reply is immediate. "Roger."

The corner of Jack's mouth curls up in a grim smile. He likes Bron.

As Jack watches, one by one the Aithsken slip through the gate, most armed with crossbows, some with knives and some with the borrowed zats. Bron appears with a staff weapon in his hands, and Jack's respect for the man steps up another notch

The men and women keep filing in. It's only a matter of time before someone notices them. If they're going to make a move on the stronghold, it's got to be soon. Jack turns to the others.

"We get inside as fast as we can, deal with the Jaffa and maybe find a way to block the entrance. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," is Jones' immediate reply.

"Ready?" Jack asks.

Daniel sighs. "Not really."

Jones pats him on the shoulder and adjusts his grip on his weapon.

Daniel half-rises, ready to run.

Jack replaces his zat with his P-90. That feels more like it.

One more radio call. "Teal'c, we're going in."

He looks at his teammates and holds up three fingers.

Two fingers.

One.

 


End file.
